


Reflection of You

by Vichan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Character Death, Drug Use, Episode: s05e04 The End, Fallen Angel Castiel, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Manipulation, Recreational Drug Use, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vichan/pseuds/Vichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.</p>
<p>Castiel studied humanity for centuries and he knew their habits and needs inside and out, but he had never known what it was like to actually be one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.
> 
> **Notes** : Warnings are not meant to be ignored. It starts out semi-light, but take everything dark about 5.04 and make it ten times as dark, and that's about where this fic will wind up. It's meant to slide right into the world of 5.04, but if it'll make you feel better, feel free to view it as an AR of 5.04. This fic is complete, but the last couple of parts are still being edited and/or still in beta. If this irritates you, I'm sorry. (My fic. Not your fic.)
> 
> **Thanks** : Tracy, who consistently held my hand, soothed my self-pity, corrected my "less & fewer" problem (among multiple other silly problems), and is probably incredibly relieved that I won't be torturing her with this fic for much longer. Extraonions allowed me to repeatedly bounce ideas off of her. The initial idea literally woke me up in the middle of the night, and all of the people who were in the deancastiel chat room that night dealt with my insane ramblings and ravings. And last but certainly not least, quovadimus83 served as a beta who fearlessly dived in without knowing where the fic was going to wind up.

When the angels left, Castiel fell. Literally.

The strings that connected him to heaven and the host had always been embedded deeply inside him, almost as if they were holding him upright. The angels disappeared and those strings were cut, and Castiel screamed. The last thing he saw before his vision went black was Dean slamming his hands over his ears. His true voice tore out of him, reverberating off brick buildings and shattering the streetlights and windows surrounding them. It faded quickly after the initial blast, until all he could feel were unnatural, painful vibrations in his throat and the sound of his scream was purely that of a human.

He collapsed as every drop of his power drained out of him. His knees hit the ground first, then his hands, and the cement beneath him left angry, red scratches on his palm.

Castiel, just barely aware that Dean came to his side in an instant, couldn't speak. He only gasped, struggling to breathe as he tried to make sense of all the new sensations bombarding him, while at the same time wondering where all of his perception had gone. The part of him that could sense anything and everything around him - from the molecules in the trees to the particles in the air - was conspicuously absent, and it was replaced by newer, nearly unsubstantial feelings. His body - for it truly was his body now, with not even a whisper of Jimmy remaining - was what he was most aware of, and it felt weak, small, and utterly breakable. Tiny, prickling aches covered his joints where his knees had struck the ground, and the skin of his hand felt like it was on fire. He felt far too much of himself and not nearly enough of the world surrounding him.

He'd been yanked out of place and everything about himself felt completely off-balance. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and scattered words, completely unlike the way he used to be able to instantly process ideas and dig something minuscule and seemingly insignificant out of the acres of knowledge he had tucked away inside.

A hand grasped his elbow and another arm moved across his shoulders, which somehow helped him steady his heart and his thoughts a bit. "Cas?"

Even Dean's voice sounded different. It was simpler, as if part of it was missing, and Castiel realized he could no longer hear the hum of Dean's soul lingering beneath his words. Even so, the familiarity of Dean's voice and the feel of his arms wrapping around Castiel helped center him.

Dean's fingers released Castiel's arm and landed gently on his cheek, coaxing his head upwards to face him. "Cas, what happened?" Castiel blinked stupidly at Dean before letting out a shuddering, shaking breath.

"The host has left," he finally said. "The angels are gone."

* * *

Castiel studied humanity for centuries and he knew their habits and needs inside and out, but he had never known what it was like to actually be one of them. He had to learn how to do the simplest things, things that were ingrained into the psyche of every human being but refused to come naturally to him.

He couldn't sleep at first, and Dean stayed up with him those first two days and nights. Dean refused to sleep until Castiel did, but even as patient as he tried to be, sleep deprivation eventually started settling in on both of them. He had Castiel lay down and close his eyes, but every time the ink of unconsciousness would start to creep into Castiel's mind he would jerk back into the waking world. On the fifty-first hour Dean snapped at him, wondering why the hell Castiel could handle pissing and eating but not sleeping, and Castiel felt his chest tighten and his eyes begin to sting.

Angels never slept, and the only time in his very long life that Castiel could remember darkness taking over him was right after the blinding light of an archangel descended on him.

He relayed this to Dean, and Dean's expression softened, a breath of air rushing out between clenched teeth.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he told Castiel. "I promise." He sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "Sleeping isn't dying. It's... something we need to do, though. Both of us." He stared at Castiel and Castiel stared back, noticing the puffiness surrounding Dean's eyes. Dean squinted at him, studied him. "I'm sorry this happened to you, Cas."

The foreign prickling in Castiel's eyes didn't ease. "How am I supposed to..." His whisper trailed off as he realized he wasn't even sure what he was asking.

Dean sniffed. "I'll help you." He shifted closer to Castiel, indicating with a nod of his head for Castiel to lie back down. "As much as I can."

Castiel tried to settle down on top of the pillow, and he let his gaze drift back up to Dean, who nodded at him. "Close your eyes," he said, and when Castiel did he felt the mattress sinking underneath Dean's weight behind him. As an arm wrapped around Castiel's waist his eyes shot back open, and he shifted and flipped over. Dean smiled tiredly at him. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not a cuddler. I'll be right here tonight, though. Okay?"

Castiel nodded, welcoming the warmth and comfort Dean's arms - along with his words - brought him. Within minutes, he drifted off to sleep for the very first time in his incredibly long life.

* * *

Castiel adjusted faster than he initially thought he would have. Once he figured out the basics - showering, dressing, brushing his teeth - everything else started coming to him with more ease. Dean taught him everything he could think of and then some. He showed him how to run a credit card through a scanner and put gas in the Impala. He patiently walked Castiel through a crash-course on surfing the internet and operating a television remote.

They were all things that Castiel had seen humans do countless times, but he never knew how involved everything was, and how many simple little objects they had to rely on.

He locked himself out of their motel room one cold, wet night while Dean was in the shower. When he peered through the window he could see the room key inside, sparkling at him from the dingy laminate table, and frustration instantly began to bubble up inside him.

At one time, he'd been able to unlock a door or appear inside a room with a thought, and now a simple lack of thought left him trapped outside in the rain. Frustration turned to despair, and Dean soon found him curled up by the door, soaking wet and shivering.

He dried off while Dean pulled out some fresh clothes, and Castiel paused when Dean handed them over. "I'm useless," he said quietly.

Dean blinked. "What? No, you're not."

A pained sound tore itself out of Castiel's throat, and he angrily rubbed the towel across his hair once more before he tossed it into the corner of the bathroom. "I am. I used to be able to _help_ you, Dean. I am of no use to you like this."

"Cas..."

"I used to be able to travel across the globe in seconds, and now I can't even leave the room without... without fucking everything up!" He slammed the bathroom door, separating himself from Dean, turning to stare at his incredibly human image in the mirror.

He was allowed only a few seconds of silence before he saw the door open a crack in the reflection. "Did you really just say 'fucking?'" Dean asked.

Castiel almost couldn't help his response. "No. I believe you imagined it."

The door opened wider and Dean poked his head into the bathroom, and Castiel could see his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "And now _sarcasm_? Cas, I'm impressed."

"I'm sure." For some reason, the cynicism that crept into his voice felt incredibly right to Castiel at that moment. It made him feel better, and helped ease that tight feeling that had taken up permanent residence in his chest. He mulled over that thought before he realized Dean was laughing. "What?"

"It is coming more naturally to you now. Sarcasm and swearing - definitely two of the most basic human reactions."

Castiel's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "This is exactly what the problem is, Dean." He hunched over the sink, staring into his reflection again, which he only recently came to think of as his own. "I'm mortal." Everything still appeared too flat and simple, including his own body. "I'm useless."

Dean snorted. "Gee, thanks."

"What?"

"Dude, I've been 'mortal' my entire life." Dean pushed the bathroom door the rest of the way open and leaned against the door jam, crossing his arms. "Good to know that I've been _useless_ this whole freaking time."

"Dean, that's not what I meant."

"I know. So why does that apply to you and not me? Life as a human sucks for most of the time, Cas. But it's not all bad, and there are ways of dealing when it does get bad."

The appraising look that appeared on Dean's face made Castiel nervous, for some reason. "You're not planning on taking me to another brothel, are you?"

"No. You and I are just going to get very, very sloppy."

Apprehension bubbled up inside Castiel when he realized that translated to consuming an unhealthy amount of alcohol, but the liquor warmed his insides and gave Dean a lazy eye and an oddly endearing lopsided grin, which made him feel even warmer when it was directed his way. The best part, however, was how much it numbed everything else in just the right way. He still lacked the awareness he was used to, but the alcohol muted the dull aches in his joints and the unsettled feeling in his heart that had been a constant since he fell.

They drank until there were three Deans standing in front of him and the room simply refused to stand still, and Dean decided that meant it was time for bed.

Just as he had done every evening since that first long night, Dean climbed onto the bed beside Castiel, only this time he wrapped himself closer to Castiel then he ever had before. His nose burrowed into the skin of Castiel's neck and an arm and a leg were thrown haphazardly across Castiel's body, which somehow made the ceiling stop spinning above Castiel's head.

Sleep came far too easily to him that night.

* * *

After that, Dean concentrated more on skills that he considered to be useful - fighting, picking locks, and weaponry. Castiel picked up on the latter quite fast, soon dismantling, cleaning, and shooting a gun nearly as quick as Dean could.

Dean was genuinely impressed with Castiel's accuracy, and as Castiel watched each empty beer can fly off the fence with each pull of the trigger an eerie sense of satisfaction bloomed in his chest. He could control a gun with his own fingers, and it gave him back some sense of the power he'd once held.

He still hated the knowledge that the power came from the gun, and not from within himself.

Dean shrugged at that. "Your power before came from Heaven, right? How is this much different?"

Castiel didn't appreciate that comment, and he only grew more frustrated when he found he couldn't pick up on physical combat nearly as fast as he learned to handle a gun. He couldn't capture the raw grace and power that Dean seemed to exude, and every punch and kick Castiel threw felt stilted and unnatural. "Why must I be so dependent on tools?" he asked Dean after he found himself flat on his back for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "Why can't I rely on my own hands?"

Dean sighed and helped Castiel up into a sitting position, then sat down next to him on the dusty ground. "Guns are easier. And I'm... well, I''ve been doing this for a good while. It'd be a miracle for you to knock me down." His smirk quickly fell when he saw Castiel's expression. "You're getting better, though, Cas."

"It's taking too long."

"It's not-"

"We should be concentrating on Lucifer. Instead you're using your time to help me."

"Hey." Dean leaned forward, making sure Castiel's eyes met his. "I'm helping you so you can help me."

Castiel shook his head, exasperated. He normally appreciated Dean's stubbornness, but he didn't understand why Dean couldn't see the truth when it came to this. "We don't have the time for this. There are others out there that would serve you better than I." He paused. "Someone like Sam."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Sam and I can't work together anymore."

"Why not?"

"Cas, it's not -" Dean looked away from Castiel, his eyes rolling up towards the sky. "Sam and I shouldn't be together anymore. It's too dangerous."

Castiel sighed. He'd already tried to explain how Dean's reasoning wasn't sound, but it seemed he still hadn't been heard. "Regardless, there are other hunters out there, people who are more skilled than I -"

"Well, I don't want them. I need -" Dean cut himself off with a shake of his head, immediately jumping to his feet. "C'mon. I'm hungry, and I could go for a burger."

Castiel glared at the hand being offered to him, then sighed and allowed Dean to hoist him up. "May we go somewhere that has liquor?"

* * *

"Suck. Inhale. Now hold it in."

There were a few things that Castiel appreciated about being mortal. He eventually learned to enjoy sleeping, though he knew Dean had a great deal to do with that particular feeling. He loved being in the Impala with Dean, air rushing through his hair and the rumble of the engine beneath them. He also finally figured out why Dean loved eating so much - the way certain flavors exploded over his taste buds sometimes sent a gratifying shiver down his back.

But Castiel's vexation over losing his power - his "funk," as Dean called it - didn't ease any, and both Dean and Castiel grew weary of Castiel waking up with a massive hangover every morning. He turned to a bottle nearly every night, craving numbness so often that even Dean had a hard time keeping up with him.

"Hold it as long as you can."

Simple pleasures did little to alleviate the numbing thoughts in the back of his mind. He missed how in tune he'd been in with the turning gears of the world. He despised how his mind was changing, how bits of knowledge he used to hold were fluttering away from him and never to be grasped again. He hated being vulnerable and being a liability.

Humanity had suffered since humanity began, and now he suffered right along with them.

"Easy, easy. It's always hard the first few times."

Coughing profusely wasn't exactly suffering, but Castiel came to the conclusion that he disliked it just the same.

When Dean decided that Castiel's drinking didn't do the trick to ease his mental anguish, he came back to the hotel one night with a small plastic bag and pack of rolling papers. He apparently decided that they wouldn't drink until the room spun, but instead inhale smoke that provoked coughing fits that shook Castiel's entire body.

"How do you feel, Cas?"

Castiel shot a glare at Dean. "My throat aches," he croaked. "I don't understand why you wanted me to try this."

Dean sighed, leaning backwards in the cheap motel chair with a frown. "Hey, it's been a while since I've smoked. I remember it being fun. Relaxing."

Castiel coughed once more before bringing his water bottle to his lips again, sucking the liquid down so hard that the plastic crinkled in his hand. "This is not fun."

A frown formed on Dean's lips. "I'm sorry. You know I have bad ideas sometimes, right?"

"Most times."

A playful kick hit Castiel in the shin. "Not so sure if I like this growing sense of humor of yours."

"You should, since I must have learned it all from you."

Dean snorted. "I guess that makes me a really bad influence."

A laugh ripped itself out of Castiel's sore throat. "You think developing a sense of humor means you're a bad influence. What kind of influence do you suppose feeding me alcohol and marijuana makes you?"

"An awesome one?" Dean grinned and took another long drag off of the joint. "All I know is that you're having a hard time and I don't want you destroying your liver." He held the smoke in his lungs and clenched his teeth as he spoke, and his voice sounded strained and thin. "This is a pretty damn harmless alternative. Well, relatively speaking." Leaning back and sliding down until his head rested on the back of the chair, he closed his eyes and finally let the smoke pour out of his mouth.

As Castiel quietly finished off his water, he realized that he hadn't ever seen Dean look as relaxed as he appeared to be at that moment. The worry lines that had been a constant on Dean's face in recent months were conspicuously absent, and he didn't look like he had acres of tension wrapped around his muscles like he usually did.

Perhaps Dean needed the relaxation just as much as Castiel did.

Castiel's eyes followed Dean's movement as he once again raised the joint to his lips and took another long hit, and he watched with mild fascination as the smoke swirled around in the dim motel light.

"How do you do that?" Castiel asked.

"Do what?"

"Inhale all of that without hurting yourself."

"I'm a vet, Cas. Through most of high school, whenever I wasn't hunting, I was stoned." Dean didn't open his eyes, and he propped his elbow up on the arm of the chair, holding the smoldering joint near his face.

Castiel already knew this. He once knew everything there was to know about Dean, but he didn't remember Dean's life as intimately as he had before the fall. If he still had all the bits and pieces buried somewhere inside, his simple, human mind couldn't get to them. Castiel shook the thought away. "I want to learn."

"You've gotta build up resistance, and you just figure out how to... hold the smoke." Dean absently waved his hand. "I don't really know how to explain it. It just clicks eventually."

"Let me try again."

Without the rest of his body moving, Dean's arm dropped towards Castiel, holding the joint out to him. "Go for it." Castiel reached out and took it, imitating Dean's three-fingered grasp of the thin white cylinder. He studied it for a moment, noting the blackened end just beyond the cinder, and the patches of brown running up the sides in uneven lines. He let out a breath, emptying his lungs like Dean told him, but hesitated.

Castiel glanced over and noticed Dean watching him with half-open eyes and a small smile. "I know it's always hard to take another hit after having a coughing fit, but you almost look like you're scared of the thing," he said.

Dean's voice didn't sound as if he was presenting a challenge, instead sounding almost fond, but Castiel still felt a mild wave of defensiveness. "I've never coughed once before tonight. It is foreign and unpleasant."

Dean seemed to study him for a few moments before he abruptly stood up and waved for Castiel to scoot over on the bed, taking the joint back from Castiel as he sat down beside him. "I can make it easier, but..."

"But what?"

"It might be a little awkward." Dean grinned. "You wanna try it?"

Castiel shook his head, amused. "I don't even know what 'it' is, but yes."

The edges of Dean's mouth twitched. "Let out your breath." Castiel did, and Dean's smirk deepened before he took a deep, long drag off of the joint. He leaned towards Castiel, so close that their noses nearly touched. "Open your mouth," he said in that strange, thin voice. Castiel again followed Dean's instructions, and then Dean's lips descended onto his own.

The first thing Castiel noticed was that Dean's lips were pleasantly soft, and then warm air started rushing into his mouth. Castiel's lungs filled until he felt he couldn't take anymore before Dean finally drew back just slightly. "Hold it in," he said, his lips still barely lingering over Castiel's. "As long as you can."

Castiel couldn't hold it for very long, but as the smoke came tumbling out of his mouth he decided he enjoyed the sensation. He didn't cough once.

"See?"

"Again," Castiel demanded.

Dean gave Castiel one more hit, this time lingering on Castiel's lips just a little longer, and Castiel found he wasn't sure which part he liked more: the rolling smoke that seemed to relax him more and more every second, or Dean's mouth covering his own, filling him with his own breath. Dean smiled at him as his eyes slipped back to half-closed before leaning towards the table and easing the glowing cherry of the joint into the ashtray. "We'll see what that does. Sometimes people don't feel anything the first time they smoke."

Castiel relished in the simple feeling of the mattress shifting underneath them as Dean leaned back on the bed and rested on his elbow, giving Castiel a sideways look. The edges of Castiel's vision seemed foggy. The tiny aches and pains that had been plaguing him for weeks were muted, and everything around him appeared brighter, and for some reason Castiel felt as if he recognized it, as if he'd done this before, and he couldn't help the tiny smile forming on his lips.

Dean watched him as Castiel processed all the new sensations. "I'm guessing pot agrees with you, after all?"

"It's just... this," Castiel said as he leaned back, lying down with his arms outstretched at each side. "It's familiar..."

"How's that?"

Castiel wasn't sure how he could even begin to explain it to Dean, who had never had the senses he once held. "I'm detached and yet... in place. I feel less like a part of my body and more part of the world around us. Less aware of myself and more aware of the touch and feel of everything surrounding me. It's like... flowing..."

Dean snorted at his words. "Dude, you are so fucking stoned."

"It... it reminds me of what I used to be."

A few moments passed before he finally heard Dean respond. "Seriously?" he asked, and when Castiel nodded he started shaking with laughter.

Confusion flickered across Castiel's mind. "What?"

"So being stoned feels like being an angel? Oh, man. That's rich." Dean shook his head with a grin, and Castiel knew that Dean wasn't teasing him. "And to think that all this time, I knew."

"It's only a small part. I'm still missing pieces. But this... it's a glimmer."

"I don't even know what to say to that." Dean's laughter eased, but a hint of a smile still remained. "That's kind of intense, Cas."

Castiel turned his head towards Dean with a lazy smile and he wondered if his eyes were as pink and glassy as Dean's were. "It feels wonderful." He'd seen Dean this close before, but there was something different now. Castiel wasn't sure if it was the pot or the way Dean was watching him, but warmth began to blossom in his chest.

Unsure of why he did it, Castiel reached out and his fingertips traced the contours of Dean's face. Dean's expression twitched in surprise, but he didn't move, and Castiel moved across his eyebrow, his cheekbone, his jawline, before finally coming to rest on Dean's lips. A long moment passed before Castiel finally spoke.

"Will you give me another?"

* * *

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah, I know exactly what that sounds like." Dean paced across the motel room slowly with his phone to his ear with one hand, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel sat back on the bed and drew his knees up to his chest as apprehension began to boil in his gut.

"Bobby, this is bad news. Really bad," Dean continued. "Look, we'll... we'll pack up here and head to your place, okay? You start making those phone calls." He snapped the phone shut, and Castiel immediately noted just how lost Dean appeared.

"What's happened?" Castiel asked.

Dean took a deep breath, and Castiel's gaze never left him as he crossed the room to toss his phone on the table. "There was this... demonic virus me and Sam dealt with a few years ago. We never actually figured it out. It was the one that... the one that got away."

Castiel grasped at the word that floated around in his half lost memories. "Croatoan." He could remember the suspicions the host had when it had appeared the first time, on Roanoke Island, but they never managed to come to any conclusions on it, and it had been brushed away as just the usual demonic mayhem. Demons had always been fond of causing misery for the mere sake of causing misery.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Scary shit."

"It's back." It wasn't a question.

"Only in small, backwater towns so far, but yeah. It's back, and it's spreading fast." Dean sat down beside Castiel on the bed. "It's just... it's finally hitting home, you know?" He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his closed eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose. "This really is the end."

Castiel closed his eyes. He knew it had to happen eventually. They were in the middle of the apocalypse, and however pleasant the last few months had been, he knew that he and Dean wouldn't be able to continue their daily regiment of training in the day, unwinding with a smoke or drink in the evening, and then curling up beside each other every night. They only had a stay, and now that stay was over.

"Bobby's calling some other hunters, cluing them in," Dean continued. "The media knows something weird is going on, but they don't know what any of it means." He worried at his lower lip with his teeth. "I guess that means it's up to us."

Castiel stomach sank at the words. No matter how hard he'd tried, Castiel was still miles behind Dean in terms of skill, and Castiel knew he was of little use. Absolutely nothing was up to the two of them - it was all dependent on Dean.

"Man, I figured that demons would just be wiping all the humans out," Dean said. "This Croatoan shit means we're going to be wasting each other. They're just gonna sit back and watch us kill each other off."

There was nothing Castiel could say at that. Instead, he just reached out and placed his hand over Dean's, and Dean lightly squeezed his own fingers in response, still staring straight ahead. "Cas, it's gonna be me. I'm gonna be the one killing them." The tiny trickle of comfort Castiel received from Dean's touch nearly turned cold.

Castiel swallowed, closing his eyes. "You... you should call Sam."

Dean's grip on Castiel's fingers tightened to a threshold of just below painful. "Bobby's already called him," he said, his voice making it clear he didn't want to have the same discussion again.

Castiel sighed. "When do we have to leave for Bobby's?"

Dean shrugged. "Soon. Not right this second, but maybe in a few hours."

"Good." Castiel leaned back on the bed and grabbed a half-smoked joint, one that he had rolled himself, from the ashtray on the nightstand. "One last time, before we have to stay sober until the end?"

A wry smile spread across Dean's face. "I totally turned you into a pothead, didn't I?"

"If that's how you'd prefer to see it. Do you want to?"

The smile turned genuine. "Why the hell not? It'll make the drive seem faster."

Castiel never looked away from Dean as he placed the joint between his lips. Too many swirling, human thoughts danced around in his mind, and he was only able to grasp one - the need to figure out exactly how he could help Dean without his old powers, with only the strength of a man.

He lit the joint and took a deep hit, filling his lungs as much as he could, before he leaned towards Dean. "Open your mouth," he whispered through clenched teeth. Dean didn't even hesitate, and Castiel sealed his lips over Dean's. He breathed into Dean, emptying himself, and he gave Dean everything he had.

Castiel felt Dean's hand move up and come to rest on the side of his neck, and fingers tangled in the hair on the back of his head. Dean held Castiel against himself even after Castiel's lungs were void of air, only tilting his head back to blow the smoke out up above them. "More," he whispered.

Without a moment of hesitation, and Castiel drew in another large hit from the joint, and when their lips touched again, Dean pulled the joint out of Castiel's hand as he accepted another long, lingering breath into his mouth. Somehow, without ever drawing away from Castiel's lips and without even looking, Dean managed to get the smoking joint back to the ashtray.

Dean again tilted his head back to release the hit Castiel gave him, and Castiel took the opportunity to speak. "I wish I could help." Dean's hand, still resting on Castiel's neck, gently pulled at him and crushed their mouths back together, effectively silencing anything else Castiel had to say. Dean's lips moved against his and Castiel found his own lips responding, imitating the movement without even thinking about it, and he once again marveled at just how soft Dean's mouth was.

Lips and tongues moved against each other, and Dean only paused to whisper into Castiel's mouth. "You do help, Cas. More than you know." He pressed harder against Castiel, and Castiel's hands tangled in the folds of Dean's shirt, desperate for more. "I can't do this without you."

For the few hours they had left before standing up to face the end of the world, they drank each other in as much as they could, and Castiel decided he found a new favorite part of being human.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking, not talking, eavesdropping, and phone calls - these can all sometimes tell you more than you want to know. An extremely vague prophecy doesn't tell you much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

He stood in the center of a burning field, and flames licked at his sides and scorched the soles of his feet. Moans and screams of despair surrounded him, and for a moment Castiel wondered if he had returned to Hell. He'd been there only once, and that was when he fought down to the depths to find and retrieve a certain Dean Winchester. The fire had burnt him then, as well, but this time he felt the heat on his back, reminding him just how little protection he had without his wings.

A rushing gale roared across the field and knocked Castiel to his knees, and the fire surrounding him began to die down to glowing embers. The smoldering grass seeming to cause more choking smoke than the fire itself had and Castiel coughed, trying to regain his breath, and he remembered that the fire in Hell never let out a single wisp of smoke.

He wasn't in Hell. He was on Earth.

This was Hell on Earth.

The screams faded down along with the flames, and Castiel rubbed at his eyes, trying to ease the burning sensation from the soot and smoke flying through the air. The field stretched as far as he could see, and the smoke was so thick that he couldn't even tell if it was night or day. He couldn't see any other other beings on the field with him, but just because he couldn't see anything didn't mean he was alone.

He felt something there with him.

Something whispered to him, not in his ears, but his mind. The timbre and melody reminded him of the voices of his brothers and sisters, and deep longing burst open inside him. He reached out for the whispers, despite not knowing how or even knowing what they said. He just wanted to hear his family again -

"Cas!"

Castiel let out a gasp, and the air filling his lungs felt like an enormous relief, as if he'd been holding his breath for some time. His eyes shot open wide and the smoldering field instantly faded from his vision, Dean appearing in it's place. The pale moonlight shining through the window of the guest room at Bobby's cast long shadows across the planes of Dean's face, but Castiel could see his tight frown and eyebrows drawn together in a worried line. Fingers threaded their way through his hair and grounded him, and Castiel took a deep breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"Another one?" Dean asked.

"Yes." Castiel sat up, shoving the covers down his chest and into his lap. His hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, and his throat felt dry and parched. "Is there water?" he asked. Dean rolled over and returned with a water bottle, and he waited as Castiel downed nearly the entire thing.

"Was it the same one again?"

Castiel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and nodded. "I still can't tell what they're saying to me." Castiel never dreamed before, not even after he became mortal, but since the Croatoan virus started picking up steam he'd been having the same one nearly every night.

"You think it's really them?"

Castiel sighed. "I don't know, Dean. I doubt it, but I can't really tell the difference between a dream and a..."

"Like when you used to talk to me in my dreams?" Dean's tone was subdued, as it always was when they spoke about something Castiel used to be able to do. Castiel supposed he knew why - his chest tightened up every time something from "before" was mentioned. He thought he kept that feeling hidden fairly well, but Dean seemed to become more in tune with him every day.

"Yes," Castiel said, one of his hands twisting into the blankets in his lap. "Or even if it is a dream, I can't tell if it actually means something or if it's just... what was it that Bobby said? If it's just my subconscious trying to tell me something."

"So you did talk to Bobby about it."

"Yes, but it's not like there's an expert on the dreams of fallen angels!" Castiel snapped, and instantly regretted it. He glanced at Dean, and he hated how the dim light made the circles beneath his eyes even darker. "Dean, stop worrying about it. _Please_."

Dean shook his head. "Cas, I'm not gonna -"

Castiel figured out the fail-safe method of shutting Dean up a few weeks before, and he utilized that knowledge by covering Dean's lips with his own. Sure enough, Dean stopped, and instead returned the kiss with one just as soft. "You need sleep. We both do," Castiel whispered. "Let's not worry about it right now."

Dean reached around and pulled Castiel towards him, his hand brushing up against the amulet Castiel still wore around his neck. "You're not gonna talk about it, but I'm still gonna worry," he said, his voice muffled as he tucked his face back down into his pillow. Castiel repressed a sigh before relaxing into Dean's arms and letting sleep overtake him once more.

* * *

Castiel woke up to an empty bed. He stretched and blinked the sleep out of his eyes before deciding that a shower and some coffee would be entirely necessary. He eased the door of the guest room open and heard the familiar timbre of Bobby and Dean's voices come from downstairs. He started to head to the bathroom, but paused when overheard his name.

"He have another one of those dreams, then?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry, Bobby - did he wake you up?"

"No. You just look like you've been awake for three days straight."

Castiel's breath caught in his throat. He knew Dean didn't sleep enough as it was, and it seemed more of that had to do with himself than Dean let on. He turned back to the bathroom, not wanting to eavesdrop, but paused when Bobby's voice traveled up the stairs again.

"Dean, that boy -"

Castiel heard Dean snort. "Really not a boy, Bobby."

"I can't tell if he's the best thing that's ever happened to you, or if he's the worst idea you've ever had. And kid - you've had a lot of _bad_ ideas."

An unfamiliar feeling crept into Castiel's mind, and the back of his neck and the tips of his ears suddenly felt hot. He didn't know what the feeling was, but he didn't like it, and he had to resist the temptation to storm down the stairs and demand why Bobby had apparently decided that the relationship between Dean and himself was his concern.

Bobby continued. "You two spend all your time together, but he won't talk to you and you won't talk to him. That's not healthy."

"We talk all the time."

"That's not what I mean, Dean, and you know it."

"Well, then, tell me what you mean." Dean sounded angry, and Castiel found himself smiling at that.

"You dote on him. You're practically wiping his ass with how much you're keeping an eye on him."

"Bobby, he's going through something right now -"

"Yeah, he is. And I can only kind of imagine what it's like to... suddenly be something you've never been before." Bobby paused, and Castiel found himself visualizing the wheelchair that Bobby now occupied. He supposed they were in somewhat similar positions, having both been reduced to only part of what they were before, but Castiel couldn't help but think that they were worlds apart to begin with.

Bobby started out as a human, and remained human. Castiel lost nearly everything he once was.

"And whenever you ask him about it he avoids the question."

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

"What, are you spying on us?" Dean asked.

"Not on purpose, trust me."

Another moment of silence passed before Dean finally responded, his voice so quiet that Castiel had to strain to hear it. "You wanna tell me what your point is, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed. "You two are using each other. He's using you as a way to deal with... whatever he's going through."

"And me?"

"Seems to me that you found yourself a half-assed replacement for Sam."

Castiel felt as if the temperature dropped ten degrees, and his breath caught in his throat.

Dean laughed. "I never slept with my brother, Bobby."

"Oh, so you two _are_ sleeping together."

"I thought you knew. We weren't exactly hiding it."

"I suspected."

"He's not a replacement for Sam."

Bobby sighed loud enough for Castiel to hear it. "Look, kid. I'm not trying to say that you two don't... care about each other. But you're using him the same way he's using you."

"I really don't get what you're trying to say." Dean sounded irritated.

"You've both got some issues. I still don't know what happened with you an' Sam, and you won't talk to me or Cas about it. And Cas just lost something huge, is apparently having nightmares about it, and he ain't talking to anyone about it. I ain't a psychiatrist or nothing, but you're both just ignoring the problems you've got because you've got each other."

"Bobby, I don't know if you noticed, but we both have bigger problems than that. There's this other huge thing going on - you know, the friggin' apocalypse?"

Their voices dropped low, lower than Castiel could hear. He strained his ears for a moment, but stopped, sitting back and closing his eyes. He shouldn't have eavesdropped to begin with; Dean and Bobby didn't have anything to hide, and eavesdropping just wound up making Castiel feel worse. He headed into the bathroom, and as he stepped underneath the hot spray, he realized Bobby was right about one thing.

Every time Castiel attempted to bring up Sam to Dean, Dean brushed the subject off. Castiel may have lost much of his intuition when he lost his grace, but he knew that Dean needed Sam, and he still wasn't entirely clear why they had separated to begin with, or why Dean adamantly insisted that he didn't need to stay in touch with his brother.

If Dean wouldn't speak to Castiel about Sam, perhaps Castiel could try a different angle.

* * *

"Hey, Bobby. What's up?"

Castiel hadn't heard Sam's voice in well over a year. Even though he'd been expecting it, and he was the one who borrowed Bobby's cell phone, it still made him pause.

"Bobby?"

Castiel cleared his throat. "It's not Bobby, Sam."

"Who - Castiel?"

No one ever could ever pronounce his name in the way it was truly meant to be said but Sam always managed to mangle it more than most, and Castiel smiled at hearing Sam's particular way of saying it. "Hi, Sam."

"Why are you - is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine."

"I heard what happened, Cas. I'm... I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you're going through."

"It's... I'm... _dealing_ with it. That isn't why I called. I wanted to speak with you."

He heard Sam sigh. "If you're calling me about the same thing Bobby's always bugging me about -"

"I don't even know what he's spoken to you about, Sam."

"Dean and I shouldn't be around each other. It's too dangerous."

Castiel blinked at Sam's response to his unspoken question. He didn't know what to expect for an answer, but that hadn't been it. More than anything, he hadn't expected Sam to agree with Dean. They rarely agreed on anything.

"Lucifer is after me, not anyone else. I've got a giant target on my back. I shouldn't be around anyone at all."

"Is that - that's why you and Dean won't even speak to each other?"

"It makes the most sense, Cas. If Lucifer or Michael get to either of us, we won't have anything to give up."

"That - that doesn't make any sense at all."

Sam sighed again. "Cas, I'm tired of arguing with Bobby about it, and I'm not going to start arguing with you about it."

"Sam -"

"I'm in the middle of something right now, Cas. I've gotta go." Sam cleared his throat. "Keep an eye on Dean for me."

"Sam!" Cas said, hoping he caught him before Sam hung up. "I can never be to Dean what you are. Please remember that."

Castiel heard Sam sniff in response. "Just make sure he doesn't do anything too crazy, okay? You know how he is."

By the time Castiel opened his mouth, Sam had already disconnected. He sighed, flipped the phone closed, and headed back inside.

"No luck, huh?" Bobby said as Castiel handed his phone back over.

"I don't understand them," Castiel said, shaking his head.

Bobby snorted. "I've been trying to understand those two for years."

* * *

Reports of the virus made it to hunters across the country, although it was clear that no one knew exactly what to make of it. When the revelation that sulfur was being detected in the infected blood, a few hunters that Bobby hadn't had contact with before were pointed in Bobby's direction. Word had apparently been put out that Bobby had information on what was happening, and Bobby's phone started ringing off the hook, to the point that Bobby turned his phone off at night.

Dean took to scouring the news to see if there were any hints of the virus, and Castiel began piecing together what he could remember of Roanoke, along with what little information he could find in the history books.

"The problem is that my brothers and I never expected it, and we didn't notice what had happened in Roanoke until the people of the colony were already missing." He leaned back from one of Bobby's books and rubbed his eyes. "We were never omniscient, and we hadn't known that the colony needed keeping an eye on. Even when Uriel went back -"

"That ass?"

Castiel ignored the comment. He still mourned the path Uriel had gone down, but he understood Dean's problems with him. "Even when Uriel went back through time to observe happenings on the island, he couldn't find the source of the virus."

"Is there any chance he was lying?" Dean asked. "I mean, you did tell me he was actually rooting for Lucifer to come back."

Castiel shook his head. "I doubt it, but it's hard to say for sure."

"So even the angels knew about as much Roanoke as we humans knew, then," Bobby said, rolling into the living room with a few beers.

"We did know it was demonic in origin, but that was it. We were never given a chance to study it."

"Do you... do you think it's a coincidence that the virus popped up again right after the angels left?" Dean asked.

Castiel frowned and took a sip of his beer. "I honestly don't know."

"Is it possible that the angels didn't just... leave?" Bobby asked quietly, and Castiel suppressed a sigh. Dean and Bobby acted as if they were walking on eggshells every time the topic of the angels' departure came up, and Castiel wished they wouldn't.

"It's the only possibility," Castiel said. "No demon or angel, not even Lucifer, could force the entire host to leave. And I know that my brothers and sisters were... tired." He cast his eyes away from the other two as a feeling of shame suddenly overtook him. "It's why they wanted the apocalypse to come to pass to begin with." He closed his eyes as he was reminded of the part he had played in causing the apocalypse. If he had only decided where his loyalties had laid sooner, the present events could have been completely different. Lucifer wouldn't have even been a threat.

"Stop that." Dean interrupted Castiel's thoughts.

"What?"

"I know that look. Just stop."

Castiel offered Dean a small smile. "I will if you do the same."

Dean snorted. "Right." Bobby passed another newspaper over to Dean, and their attention drifted away from him as they poured over the latest reports.

Castiel's fingers drifted up and landed on Dean's amulet, still resting against his chest underneath his shirt. Something had bothered him ever since the host left, but it was something he'd been shoving down, unsure if it was something he wanted to face.

He stood up, grabbed his beer and left the room, finding his way onto Bobby's porch. The summer air was beginning to cool down, and it helped him clear his head.

"Cas?"

Castiel closed his eyes. He'd been hoping Dean wouldn't have followed him out.

"Everything okay?"

Castiel didn't answer, and instead tipped his beer to his lips, guzzling down what remained of the bottle.

"Cas, c'mon. Talk to me." Dean came up beside Castiel and leaned against the rail of Bobby's porch, their arms brushing up against each other.

"Are you only checking with me because Bobby thinks we don't talk enough?"

He felt Dean stiffen up before letting out a laugh. "So you heard that?"

"Yes."

"Cas, look -"

Castiel cut Dean off with a wave of his hand. He again rested his fingers against the amulet, swallowed hard, and finally untucked the leather cord from his shirt and lifted it over his head. He rolled the amulet between his fingers before holding it out to Dean.

Dean's expression made it clear that he knew exactly what it meant, and blinked at it before he extended his hand to take the familiar necklace. "You're giving up?"

Castiel sighed. "I think I gave up months ago, Dean. It's obvious."

Dean didn't say anything, and Castiel was grateful for it.

"If my brothers and sisters were allowed to leave without resistance, our Father... it means God isn't anywhere that he can be found." He closed his eyes. "You were right, Dean. God is gone."

"Cas..."

"I don't even know if He was ever there to begin with," Castiel said. He turned around, and he hoped that Bobby would be willing to share whatever whiskey he had hidden away. "It wouldn't do any good for me to continue hoping for something that will never come."

* * *

Hunters began showing up at Bobby's for a first-hand account of exactly what was happening. The three of them shared what they could, and most hunters moved on when they got the information they came for. Once in a while, though, someone would stay for a night or two, and Castiel often found himself feeling even more claustrophobic than usual.

When Castiel had first taken Jimmy Novak as a vessel, he felt confined. Angels weren't meant to be contained in human skin, and he had felt cramped. When the host of angels had left, the skin started to feel more like his own, but it had still taken him quite some time for him to grow used to it.

Bobby's house became a type of command center, and the way people crowded into it made Castiel uncomfortable. More than once Dean found Castiel sitting out in the Impala with a beer or a bottle of whiskey, just to get away from the people and the noise. Dean teased him about being anti-social, but it was without spite.

One night Dean decided he was sick of Castiel hiding in his car, and he coaxed Castiel out of the Impala and up to Bobby's porch. They talked about everything and nothing, and Castiel appreciated the distraction.

The sun was just slipping down below the horizon when yet another car rolled up the dirt driveway. "Shit," Castiel said, exasperated at seeing yet another body added to the mix, and Dean laughed. For reasons Castiel couldn't understand, Dean was always amused when Castiel swore.

The car rolled to a stop, and a man neither Dean or Castiel recognized climbed out of the driver's seat, but when a second man appeared from the passenger side, Castiel felt as if his muscles locked up. He hadn't seen that face since he faced off against Raphael, and the memory of blinding light and excruciating pain froze him in place.

Chuck Shurley followed the hunter up the stairs in silence. He gave a small smile to Dean, but he stopped in his tracks when he spotted Castiel.

Castiel stared back, and he couldn't breathe. The last moments he'd been with Chuck kept replaying in his mind on repeat. Everything he felt was unfamiliar, and he found himself involuntarily tensing up, almost as if he was preparing for an archangel's power to break his body open again.

Dean looked back and forth between the two of them before placing a hand on Castiel's arm. "That's it," he muttered. He nodded to Chuck and the hunter in greeting, then turned Castiel around and marched him inside and up the stairs.

He never took his gaze off of Castiel, and he didn't speak until he shut the door with his shoe. "Cas, what's up?"

"It's ridiculous," Castiel said, taking a deep breath. He backed up until the back of his legs hit the bed, and he sat down, placing his head in one of his free hands. "I shouldn't be having this kind of reaction to him. The last time I saw him..."

Dean crouched down and tried to get Castiel's eyes to meet his own. "Cas, it's not exactly easy for me to think about, either. Raphael freaking _killed_ you."

Castiel winced.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Dean said, reaching out and wrapping his fingers around Castiel's jeans. "I -"

"Dean, don't." Castiel shook his head. "I already know what happened there, and there's no use in reliving it. I just need... I just need to catch my breath."

He did just that, and Dean waited with him. Despite losing many of his angelic memories, his remembered his death as clear as daylight, and he found it difficult to simply shut it off. Castiel knew that he needed to, though - he would be of little use if he wasn't even able to deal with being in Chuck's presence.

Castiel took a deep breath, then offered Dean a smile in thanks for keeping his silence.

"We need to find out why he's here," Castiel said.

* * *

As it turned out, Chuck was about as thrilled to see Castiel again as Castiel was to see Chuck. Castiel may have been the one to be blown to pieces, but Chuck was the one who had seen it all unfold. Humans didn't tend to see people explode in front of their eyes, so Castiel supposed he could understand why Chuck had been so disturbed to see him.

Bobby ushered all of the hunters out of his kitchen and plunked a bottle of Johnnie Walker on the table, and Dean, Castiel, and Chuck stared each other down as he poured them each a glass.

"I haven't had a vision in a while," Chuck said after swallowing down his glass in one gulp. "I know that they left, though."

"How do you know?" Castiel asked.

"I kinda... felt them go," Chuck said. "It was like a vice suddenly let go of my brain."

"Did any of your last visions tell you anything? Why they left, or if they knew what was happening?" Castiel knew the answer to that wouldn't necessarily solve any of their current problems, but he couldn't help but wonder about the circumstances surrounding his brothers and sisters' departure.

Chuck shrugged. "A lot of the visions I got after that one vision - the one that sent you and Sam into a trap, Dean - they were all muddled. They didn't make much sense."

"Do you remember anything at all?" Dean asked, and Castiel could tell from Dean's tone of voice that 'anything at all' actually meant 'anything useful.'

"Just that this virus is gonna start wiping everyone out," Chuck said.

"Which we already know is a possibility," Bobby said.

"Anything else?" Dean pressed.

Chuck poured himself another glass of whiskey. He knocked it back and looked down, not meeting anyone's eyes. "The only other thing I saw for sure is that in the end, you're there."

"Me?" Dean asked.

Chuck nodded.

"I..." Dean leaned back in his chair and frowned. "Did you see anyone else?" Castiel knew he wasn't only wondering about himself and Bobby, but Sam, as well.

Chuck shrugged. "I saw some other people here and there, but I couldn't see any of their faces. But you're definitely there." Chuck shivered, and Castiel felt a chill run down his body, as well. "I don't know what happens after that."

"Was I... _doing_ anything in the vision?"

Chuck shook his head. "I really couldn't see much of anything, Dean. I'm sorry, but it's all pretty useless."

"Then why did you come here?" Castiel asked.

Bobby snorted. "Boy, you haven't learned much tact, have you?" Castiel ignored him.

Chuck finally met Castiel's eyes, and Castiel noticed just how pale and tired Chuck appeared. "I didn't know where else to go. From what I can tell, the world's gonna crash and burn, but you're gonna keep fighting until the end."

Dean didn't say anything. He looked at Chuck for another moment before he pushed back from the table, swiftly heading out of the room. Castiel muttered an apology to Chuck and Bobby before following behind him.

He found Dean out on the porch, which seemed to have become their refuge since coming to Bobby's. Dean leaned against the railing, and Castiel could see the tension racing up and down Dean's back. "He's right, you know," Castiel said.

"I know," Dean said.

"If this world has any hope of surviving, it's because of you."

"And if that's what Chuck thinks, he's nothing but a fucking coward for coming here." Dean shook his head. "Do you know how much I hate that?"

"Chuck being afraid? Can you blame him?"

"No." Dean turned his head, and Castiel was struck by how lost Dean appeared. "I can't be the... the only hope for survival."

"Dean." Castiel grabbed Dean and turned him around, not wanting to continue speaking to Dean's back. "I know you hate it. But it's not much different from what people usually look to you for." He placed a hand on Dean's cheek. "You've saved countless lives, both by just... doing what you do, and also just by inspiring others to do what's right." Castiel smiled, knowing he himself was one of those who Dean had convinced to do the right thing. "Chuck might be here because he's a coward, but he's also here because he believes in you."

"I can't take that, Cas. I can't deal with that alone."

Castiel winced, but plowed on. "I know I'm not much of a substitute for Sam, but I'm _with_ you. You're not alone."

Dean opened his mouth when Castiel mentioned Sam, but Castiel didn't let him say what was on his mind. Sam wasn't the point.

"We're all fighting blind here, Dean, but we do have more info than any other hunter going up against this thing. We might not know how to cure it, but we do know how it spreads, and we can at least figure out how to slow it down and how to keep people safe."

Dean pushed Castiel's hand away and shook his head. "I'm really not up for hearing whatever inspiring speech you're gearing up for, Cas."

"Too bad," Castiel said. "Even though you're much better at inspiring speeches than I am, anyway."

Dean gave Castiel a half smile, which Castiel considered to be a small victory.

"Whether you want it or not, people are going to look to you for guidance, Dean," Castiel continued. "And you're going to need to be there to give it. You're going to have to make people listen to you if they won't."

Dean frowned. "You kind of sound like a dick right now, Cas."

"You're calling me by your old nickname for the angels." Castiel couldn't help but laugh. "You are right about something, in that respect."

"That you're being a dick?"

"No," Castiel said, narrowing his eyes. "But I've seen what happens when humanity is sent into a panic over something and no one steps up to lead them. I have been alive for millennia, Dean, and I've seen it happen countless times. It never leads to anything but a quicker end."

Dean stared, and his throat bobbed as he took a deep swallow before he finally shook his head. "If you've been around for millennia, how old does that make me with my forty years in hell?"

"Don't change the subject."

Dean sighed. He stepped away from Castiel and leaned back against the railing again, his eyes cast downward. "Why does it have to be me, Cas?"

It was a question Castiel sometimes found himself asking. "Do you trust anyone else to take the lead?"

Dean didn't answer, his gaze still pointed down towards their feet. "I hate this," he muttered.

"So do I." Castiel wished for the impossible - that he could take the apocalypse and throw it into the sun, just so he could offer Dean some relief. "But there doesn't appear to be a choice."

Dean let out a noisy sigh and pushed himself away from the railing. "Damn it." He rubbed a hand across his eyes before looking at Castiel, and an unspoken need made them both reach for one another, somehow knowing that leaning on each other was the only thing they could do at that moment. Castiel brushed his lips across Dean's, and he felt as if something inside of him was breaking into pieces. He was the one laying all of this on Dean's shoulders when he wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

They stayed wrapped around each other for a few long minutes before Dean finally pulled away, cradling Castiel's face in his hands and placing a kiss on Castiel's forehead. "I hear you, Cas," he said quietly. "I wish you didn't have to say it, but I hear you."

Castiel closed his eyes. "I wish it didn't need to be said."

Dean let out a laugh. "I don't know about you, but I'm thinking that the only thing that's gonna make this night better is if we gank the rest of Bobby's Johnnie Walker."

* * *

Castiel woke up to a pounding headache, and again an empty bed. He wondered exactly what it was that had woken him, and after managing to get the nausea and headache under control, he wandered down the stairs and into the living room, where Bobby and the hunter that arrived with Chuck the night before were both cursing up a storm.

"- can't believe a fucking _woman_ is about to steal the election," the hunter said.

"It's got less to do with her fucking genitals and more to do with the fact that she's a fucking idiot!" Bobby shouted.

Castiel listened for another minute and finally deduced that they weren't actually arguing but in fact agreeing with each other, though he couldn't determine exactly what had set them off. The smell of coffee enticed him into the kitchen, where he found Dean and Chuck sitting at the table with forlorn expressions. "What's going on?" Castiel asked.

Dean sighed, setting his coffee mug down with a bang. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Palin apparently 'released' the information that there is an extremely contagious blood-borne virus that can be blamed for all the recent upswing in violence across the country," Dean said, cynicism dripping from his words. "Her so-called 'team' that found this info has the theory that it's the same thing that wiped out the Roanoke Colony because of the word 'Croatoan' that's been found in some of these towns. Don't ask me why since it could just be chalked up to copycat cult shit, but the public is just eating it up."

"Do you think she's always been possessed?" Chuck asked.

"Palin is possessed?" Castiel asked, surprised. He'd only come across her name when they'd been scouring the news for hints of the virus. Her activities were extremely well-covered due to her campaigning for the presidency, which made it somewhat difficult to find news of anything else.

"Fuck if I know. She probably just got the info from some demon, and she jumped at the chance for a good playing card," Dean said. "She really seems too dumb for a demon."

"Isn't this a good thing, though?" Castiel asked. "If the public is aware of the virus and how it is spread, it may make it easier to prevent it from spreading as quickly." He paused. "Or is this the good news?"

Dean smiled blearily as Castiel sat down next to him. "No. The good news is actually kinda good, and Palin is really _not_ good. Palin basically just guaranteed herself the election next month."

Castiel nodded as the situation became clearer. "So she is a person who could wind up in a position of significant power, and if she did actually gain the information from a demon she is potentially easy to manipulate."

Chuck blinked. "And here most of us were just mad beacuse she's a fucking idiot."

Dean grinned and gently bumped his shoulder into Castiel's, who groaned. His head still ached, and being jostled didn't help. "Cas is always the voice of reason."

"Don't run into me again until my head feels better," Castiel said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's the actual good news?"

"Bobby's sick as shit of his house being invaded, so we're all being kicked out."

Castiel dropped his hand and stared at Dean. "That's good news?"

"The hunter who brought Chuck here last night - he came here with word of a little military camp that's wide open for us to move into. It's abandoned, but still in good shape, and it'll make a good base of operations. That means no more overcrowding and no more hiding in my car for you." Dean grinned. "And if we're actually going to try and convince people to get together and fight, we need somewhere to put them that isn't Bobby's living room."

Castiel found Dean's smile infectious, and he offered a small smile back. "You seem especially pleased about this." He considered what Dean had said. "More pleased than you did last night, anyway."

"Dude, no matter how shitty this place turns out, it's still..." He paused. "When I was growing up, we never stayed anywhere longer than a few months. These days I never stay somewhere for more than a few weeks. Even if it's just for strategic purposes or - whatever, it's almost like I'm gonna have a home."

"Well, personally, I'm less than thrilled," Chuck said, standing up. "I'm happy for you, Dean, really, but I know that I'll really be missing being able to have a shower in the morning."

"You don't have to come," Dean pointed out.

Chuck stared back at Dean for a moment before answering. "Yes, I do." He poured himself another cup of coffee and headed out into the living room, where Bobby could still be heard shouting about 'that fucking manipulative moron.'

Castiel glanced back over at Dean, who was still grinning at him. "You've never had this before," Castiel said quietly.

"No. And I'm not happy about the circumstances around it, but..." He paused and let out a laugh. "You wanna move in with me, Cas?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gives Chitaqua hope, and they give him back pieces of what he used to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

The camp turned out marginally better than they expected - Chitaqua did have running water and electricity, but Chuck was right about the lack of a shower. Castiel hadn't even realized how much he appreciated being able to take a shower every morning, even if it was in a dirty motel room or Bobby's house, where the hot water always ran out too fast. He finally understood what humanity meant by 'taking things for granted.'

Dean had been completely serious about wanting to move in with Castiel. When they first arrived, they had enough spare cabins for everyone to each have their own, but they knew they would eventually have to start doubling up. He and Dean chose one of the smaller cabins, with only two rooms, but it at least came with a mattress that looked and smelled cleaner than most of the beds Dean had crashed on in countless motels over the years.

Dean's apparent happiness over the change in quarters baffled Bobby, but he seemed to accept Castiel's explanation that Dean finally had a chance to make a building into a home, of sorts. With Croatoan and the threat of Lucifer always looming, it seemed wiser to find happiness where they could.

The only people inhabiting the camp were hunters, who occasionally brought their children to make sure they were safe. Most of their children seemed older, at least in their late teens, and Castiel suspected Bobby had a hand in that decision since small children would be difficult to look after. A few hunters would only swing through the camp for a day or two, some dropping comments that having a large group of people in one place seemed unwise, setting them all up to be sitting ducks.

Castiel knew they had a valid point, so he worked with Bobby to come up with a powerful combination of cloaking spells. One thing he had mostly retained from his angelic knowledge was the gift of language. He wasn't as fluent in every known language as he had been before, but he could still write out Enochian symbols off the top of his head without missing a stroke. Between his Enochian and Bobby's mishmash of everything from Zoroastrian to Egyptian, they managed to make sure the camp was hidden from anyone will ill intent, even if they had exact coordinates. It wouldn't protect them from someone infected with the virus, but it would at least keep anyone conscious of their actions far away from them.

They impressed several hunters the day the wards went up, which was a very good thing coming on the heels of Palin's election. Nearly the entire camp wound up getting hammered that night, partially out of mourning the future of their country, and partially in celebration for finding a way to feel safer than most of them ever had.

When winter came Castiel quite adamantly decided he hated snow. He remembered marveling at its beauty as an angel, but as a mortal it was just cold and wet, it made moving quickly difficult, and it dampened the woods surrounding the camp, making everything far too still and silent.

They rang in the new year with as much fanfare as they could muster, with everyone in the camp - which had reached just over twenty people - packing into Bobby's cabin and surrounding a radio with champagne, rum, and whiskey. They listened to a live broadcast of the ball dropping at Times Square, but even with as much liquor as they had at their disposal their own celebration was still muted. A few people quietly wondered if it would be the last time the infamous Times Square party would happen.

Castiel mostly stood back and observed. He had been aware of the New Years' customs as an angel, but even as a mortal the celebration still mystified him. He excused himself just after midnight, knowing he and Dean had to leave early the next morning to investigate a town three states over. Dean followed him, laughing as they made their way across the camp back to their cabin.

"You seem to be in good spirits," Castiel said.

"I was just thinking about something," Dean replied. "It's stupid, really, but it's kind of funny." He finished the beer he'd been drinking and threw the empty can towards a nearby containier. "Funny in that awful, apocalyptic kind of way."

"And what is it?"

"It's just that..." They shuffled up the stairs, and paused on the tiny porch. "People have been saying it for years."

"Don't leave me in suspense, Dean."

Dean snorted in response. "2012 was supposed to be the end of the world, and we're still here." He shoved through their door and glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe it was just the beginning of the end."

* * *

It was sometime in the spring when Castiel first noticed it.

People looked at him.

At first Castiel assumed they were actually looking at Dean, the one who had the most intimate knowledge of the Croatoan virus and what it did to people. But as he watched and observed the hunters and their families more, he noticed a select few whose eyes drifted away from Dean and towards himself. Their curious gazes made Castiel uncomfortable, and he wondered why they watched him so intently.

One day, one of the women he'd noticed watching him - her name was Beatrix, but everyone called her 'Bea,' as far as Castiel could remember - approached him as he cleaned a few of his and Dean's guns outside on their porch. She stood before him for a few minutes before finally speaking. "You're an angel."

"I was an angel," Castiel corrected the girl automatically, not even bothering to raise his head to look at her. "No longer."

"But that still means something to a few of us," Bea said. When Castiel looked up, she was already walking away.

* * *

After that, it soon became common knowledge around Chitaqua. Most brushed it off as rumor, but a few took it to heart. They had an actual angelic being among them. Castiel didn't know how the secret had been let out in the first place, but he soon decided it didn't matter, anyway. He had always favored the truth, and it wasn't exactly as if he was hiding.

However, it wasn't long before people started looking to Castiel for prayer, which made Castiel wish he had remained hidden. He didn't feel comfortable leading people in prayer to a God he doubted himself.

"It gives them hope, Cas," Dean said one night, curling himself around Castiel's body with a lazy and now familiar grace. "They're looking to you for hope."

Castiel shook his head. "They shouldn't be. I can't offer them anything." He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "There's nothing there for them to pray to."

Dean propped his chin up on Castiel's chest, tracing fingertips down Castiel's arm. "Hope makes people stronger, Cas. Even when it's false hope."

"You..." Castiel sat up, staring at Dean in disbelief. "You want me to lie to them?"

"For their own good," Dean said. "People without hope don't want to live. People who don't want to live won't fight to survive, and we need these people to _want_ to survive."

When Castiel didn't respond, Dean slid up the bed and gave Castiel a tender kiss. "You wanted to help, right?" he whispered. "This is another way you can."

* * *

He never had a set time to lead a prayer; those who wanted it just came to him when they needed it. There were a few that would only approach him when he was alone, almost seeming embarrassed and not wanting others to see them in a moment of what they considered to be weakness.

Castiel was surprised at the variety of people who came to him, and even more surprised at how many came back. A small group returned to him nearly every day. They were young, barely past their teens, sons and daughters of hunters, and most definitely not warriors themselves. They weren't only looking to him for spiritual guidance, but they were infinitely curious about him, as well.

It began to wear on him.

"What's it like?"a girl named Lily asked one night as they sat around a small campfire. "Or... what _was_ it like?"

"Being an angel?" Castiel asked. "That is... that's a difficult question to answer." He sighed and leaned back against a tree, staring up into the stars. "Everything is so much different as a human. Everything is muddier, more confusing." He realized they weren't going to interrupt, instead hanging onto his every word as usual. "I can't even put it into human terms. I... I never had all the answers, but I once had so many more than I have now. I knew more. Now I feel as if I know nothing."

"You know more than us," a boy responded - Owen, Castiel remembered.

"Not really," Castiel said with a small shake of his head. "I don't know how to be human, even after this long. As an angel, I think I knew more about humans than you know about yourselves. Everything was clearer. I could... see inside humans. I could see inside their minds and their souls." He snorted, half amused. "Now I can barely understand my own thoughts."

"I've felt like that, though," another boy said. "When you feel like you're part of the universe, and you - you just know how everything ticks."

"Joe!" Bea hissed at him.

Castiel raised his head to peer at the boy who had spoken. "How so?"

"Don't listen to him -" Castiel waved a hand at Bea to silence her, staring at the boy with an imploring expression. He wanted to know exactly how such a young human could achieve that feeling, and he wondered if he could get that feeling - that wisdom - back.

"Tell me."

"It... um." Joe paused, looking sheepish. "Now it's just gonna sound silly. I took some mushrooms."

"It's a drug. It's a false spiritual high," Bea said. "You know that."

Castiel raised a hand at her again. "Religions around the world have used different substances in their worship and ceremony. They believe it helps bring them closer to God."

They all stared at Castiel for a moment before Joe finally spoke. "Is it true? Does it bring them closer?"

He looked back at them, all of them watching him, waiting for an answer. "I don't know," Castiel finally said. "I've never tried mushrooms." They seemed to deflate in disappointment, and Castiel felt a trickle of guilt run down his spine, for some reason not wanting to let them down. "I've tried... other things, though," he finally said.

It was nearly comical how their eyes all grew wider at once. "You get high?"

Castiel shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with their scrutiny. "Not anymore. I stopped when... when we had to start concentrating on the fight."

"And does it bring you closer to God?" Joe asked, not missing a beat.

"I..." Castiel paused. He knew it didn't, because he wasn't even sure that God existed any longer, but he couldn't tell them that. He couldn't take away their hope. "I will say that it made me feel more like... my old self. More than I've ever felt since I... became human."

The children glanced at each other in silent communication before Joe finally turned back to him. "Do you want to smoke with us?"

* * *

Dean recognized it for what it was when Castiel crawled into bed that night, and his nose wrinkled. "You smell like pot."

Castiel couldn't help but let out a somewhat cynical laugh. "They wanted to smoke with an angel," he said, not offering any further explanation.

"Nobody gave you a shotgun, right?"

Castiel rolled over and gave Dean a deep kiss. "That's only for you." He drew back and noticed Dean's eyes were narrowed. "Are you angry with me?"

"No. Not really." Dean glared at him for another moment before shaking his head. "You're more than an adult. You can make your own decisions. There's no action tonight, anyway. Just don't do it before we have to go on a mission, okay?"

"You know I won't, Dean."

"Good." Dean rolled up and straddled Castiel, smirking. "Besides, you're a little hot when you're stoned. All spacey and mumbly." Dean rolled his hips once, deliberately and slowly, and Castiel gasped just as Dean leaned down to lick at his earlobe. "And maybe a little horny," he whispered.

Later, as they were passing out next to each other, the scent of Dean, sweat, and sex completely eliminating any traces of pot, Castiel decided he was mildly curious about the mushrooms Joe spoke of.

* * *

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he jerked his head over he noticed that his shoes were sliding across the floor, oddly looking like small cars driving side by side. He watched them for a few minutes as they slowly moved forward a few feet, and then suddenly jerked back to their original position only to begin the journey all over again. It was strange, and Castiel wondered why his shoes were doing that.

They did it over and over again, until he finally decided that the shoes must have been unable to make their trip across the room by themselves. He crawled off of his mattress and over to his shoes, sliding them into the corner where he thought they'd been trying to go. The shoelaces waved at him in thanks, so he smiled down at them and moved back to his bed, where he laid down with a small sense of satisfaction that he could at least be of assistance in some way.

His pillow was extremely soft, and he sighed happily in comfort as he stared up at the ceiling, studying the grain of the wood. The flat, sanded surface appeared layered and three dimensional, the different shades standing apart from each other and shifting against the color beneath. He had an urge to reach up and grab the darkest color, the one closest to the surface, and tear it away from the others. It reminded him of demon smoke as it slithered and hovered over the lighter colors. It was too similar to the world he lived in.

It was strange, disenchanting, to remember just how many people in the world had no clue as to what moved among them. They went about their lives, never knowing how close they were to death. In a way, though, Castiel thought they might have it easier. At least they weren't spending the last of their days worrying about the end. They could enjoy their last moments.

Castiel thought he might envy their ignorance.

"Cas?" Dean hovered over him, and Castiel realized he hadn't even heard Dean come in. He smiled, glad that Dean came to be with him.

"Jesus, Cas." Dean sat down beside Castiel, and Castiel tilted his head up into the fingers suddenly running through his hair. "Your pupils are the size of a fucking quarter. What the hell did you take?"

"I wanted to try something new." Castiel didn't want to move, enjoying how he sank down into the mattress. "I can think now. Everything's clearer."

Dean muttered something Castiel couldn't understand. "What's clearer?"

"Life. The world. We don't find hope - we create it. We create it in everything we do." Castiel was particularly pleased with this revelation, and even more excited to share it with Dean. "The 'false hope' you spoke of - I'm creating that every day."

Dean studied him for a few moments before cupping his cheek and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. Castiel nearly gasped at the feeling - Dean's touch seemed amplified, sparking his nerve endings from head to toe. "You're tripping," Dean said quietly.

"Is that what this is called?" Castiel raised his hand and his fingers landed on Dean's lips. "Soft..." he whispered.

Dean sighed, grasping Castiel's wrist and pulling it away from him. "I've got some things to take care of," he said. "I'll tell you about them when you come down, okay?"

Castiel nodded, sinking further down into the mattress.

"Will you be okay by yourself?" Dean asked as he climbed to his feet.

"I will be fine."

Dean left, and Castiel continued sinking.

* * *

By the time Castiel's racing mind had slowed down and he stopped seeing flat surfaces as three dimensional, Dean had been gone for hours. Castiel pulled himself out of their cabin and went in search for answers. When he found them, a pit yawned open in his stomach.

The 'things' Dean had to take care of turned out to be gathering survivors from Philadelphia. Thousands had either been straight up murdered by the 'Croats,' as they'd taken to calling them, or were infected. The government stepped in and attempted to wipe out the remainder, and only a handful of people escaped with their lives.

Dean needed Castiel, and Castiel had been too out of it to be of any assistance whatsoever.

Castiel refused to eat or drink anything until Dean returned, no matter how much Chuck or Bobby urged him to. When Joe and the others approached his cabin with a joint to share with him, Castiel waved them away without a word.

Two days passed before Dean came back, toting only four survivors behind him. Castiel waited for him in their cabin, curling up on top of the mattress. When Dean finally trudged in, looking much more worse for the wear than he had in a while, he didn't even push his boots off of his feet before lying down next to Castiel, rolling over onto his back and rubbing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered. "I should have-"

Dean cut him off with a shake of his head. "It's fine, Cas. You couldn't have known what was going down in Philly."

"But I should have been with you. I was..."

"Going on a psychedelic experience?" A hint of teasing crept into Dean's voice. "I can't say you had the best timing, but I've done that myself, Cas."

"It won't happen again."

"Cas." Dean rolled up to rest on his elbow. "I don't like it, and I'm sure as hell not encouraging it. But I..." Dean sighed, his eyes dropping. "You've been... ever since..." He paused, swallowing. "Well, you've kind of been really fucked up, and I don't know how to help you."

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. Dean didn't need to help him - it should have been the other way around.

"What you're doing - it's a crutch. It's a way to deal. Hell, I drank myself into more than a few stupors after I came back from Hell. I can't really judge you for wanting to..." He paused again and looked up to study Castiel, almost as if he was attempting to read whatever was running through Castiel's mind. "It's not even really an escape for you, is it?"

Castiel didn't respond, but silently agreed. Everything he'd felt elevated his sense of self, his mind, and brought him a taste of the awareness he'd once held. He wasn't escaping. He was only trying to find what he'd lost.

"Just... be careful, okay?" Dean continued. "Don't take anything that could fuck with you permanently. Stay away from crystal meth, and definitely don't take any fucking Jimson weed -"

"Dean." Castiel shook his head, cutting off Dean's rambling. "It's not going to happen anymore. You need me to be able to help you, not... 'tripping.'"

Dean leaned in and captured Castiel's lips with his own. "Cas, more than anything, I need you here," he whispered. "And I need you to not look like you want to die."

* * *

Joe introduced Castiel to a man named Mark, one of the survivors Dean had picked up from Philly. Out of any of the people Castiel had met with, Mark seemed to be the most awed at Castiel's past.

"You're living proof that God exists," he said, staring at Castiel with wide eyes. Castiel didn't bother to point out that humans had been saying the same thing about themselves for centuries.

There was nothing truly remarkable about Mark, much like many of the humans Castiel had met in camp. Castiel had a somewhat passing interest in Mark's past as a priest who had removed himself from the church several years prior, but was much more intrigued by the backpack Joe insisted Mark show to Castiel.

"I just grabbed everything I could when the Croats came up our street," Mark said as set his pack on the ground and began rifling through it. "I knew it wasn't the end, and I felt like having all of this was incredibly important." Castiel picked up the football-sized plastic bag of mushrooms Mark had just pulled out, turning it over in his hands in near disbelief. The amount of bitter mushrooms he had chewed up and swallowed before had been a tiny fraction of what he now held, and he had been under their influence for hours.

Castiel felt as if he was being watched, and he glanced up to see Mark staring at him with a nearly reverent expression. "Now I know why it was so important," Mark commented quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Castiel wanted to pretend he hadn't heard.

He set the mushrooms down and peered at all the items Mark had pulled out of his pack. Some were familiar, but most weren't. "You are a man of God, are you not?" he asked absently as he picked up a smaller bag full of tiny plants that Castiel felt like he could once name, Latin genus and all, but couldn't hope to identify them any longer. He repressed a sigh at the now familiar feeling of discovering another gap in his knowledge.

"I am," Mark replied. "I do not need to be inside of a house of God to worship our God. What matters is our faith, our undying devotion to the Lord."

Castiel traded the plants for a small glass bottle that appeared to be full of water. "Why are you here, Mark?"

"Because I'm meant to be."

The quiet answer startled Castiel, and he glanced up to see Mark no longer staring at him, but at the bottle in his hand.

"With the way the world is heading, that's probably the last bottle of that I'll ever see," Mark commented. "Fortunately, that's enough to keep quite a few people going for years."

Castiel held the bottle up and the rays of the receding sun refracted and bent through the clear liquid. "And what is it?"

* * *

He'd found the key.

The mushrooms had brought Castiel closer to what he missed, but they were nothing compared to the tiny slip of paper he'd set on his tongue a few hours ago. Aside from Dean, it was easily the greatest gift he'd received since falling.

His thoughts were no longer jumbled, even while having twenty-seven different realizations running through his mind simultaneously. He understood each and every single one of those thoughts, and he tried his hardest to translate them into human terms for Mark's benefit, who hung onto his every word with unrivaled veneration.

He knew that the absence - the space between everything - mattered just as much as the parts that had mass. He remembered that life was always set in forward motion, even when it seemed that the world was still.

He knew everything he'd known before he fell.

Even so, Castiel wasn't sure if the revival of his angelic mind was as important as the return of what he'd missed the most - he was again part of the universe in body and soul. He could feel the earth rotating, spinning endlessly in a system that was nearly as old as he was. He could count the molecules that made up his body, and he could feel them vibrating together in a perfect rhythm, completely aware of the silent pulse that connected him to the ground beneath him and the air surrounding him.

"Mark," he said, and he could taste his voice on his tongue.

Mark just laughed gleefully.

"Listen to me," Castiel insisted, the taste of his words becoming sharper, heavier. "You must listen." He stood up and carried himself towards Mark, who laid on the ground with a serene smile. He hovered over the inert man, and his eyes instantly focused in on Castiel.

"Angel," Mark gasped. "You've changed... everything." He reached up, his fingertips hovering near Castiel's face. "I knew you would. I've always known."

Castiel grasped Mark's hand in both of his, and their hands seemed to meld and become a part of each other. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked.

"I've found God."

Castiel shook his head. Of course Mark hadn't found God. Castiel had searched high and low with all the powers and senses of an angel and come up with nothing. "You've restored me." He released Mark's hand and stood up, and he stretched his arms out to either side, reveling in the world. "Not everything, but I am..."

"You are holy."

Castiel nodded. "I was, once, and now you've given it back." He passed his hand in front of him, stroking the air. "But not just myself; I can see holiness everywhere again." He closed his hand, grasping the particles surrounding his fingers. "Perhaps it was never lost." A smile found its way to Castiel's lips, and he felt a sense of peace in his heart.

And then something thundered across Castiel's mind, instantly shattering that peace. It was soundless and weightless, but had the power of a thousand suns, and it sent Castiel to his knees with a gasp as it continued rumbling through his entire being. Castiel threw out his senses, trying to figure out what had happened, and he instantly found what he was looking for.

One string remained.

He'd found the last connection to the host, the thing that had been whispering to him in his dreams. Bile rose in Castiel's throat as he realized just who that last string belonged to, but he couldn't help traveling along it, reaching out for his lost brother. He left his cabin and appeared in the middle of a horrible world. "No, no, no," he whispered. The sight in front of him terrified him, but he couldn't look away.

"Castiel?" Mark's voice sounded miles away, but the worry still carried over the distance.

"Dean," Castiel felt like choking on his request. He needed him, but what he saw would destroy Dean. "Please... Dean."

"Let me help," Mark said.

"Find Dean!" Castiel shouted, desperation wrapping around him like an ugly cocoon. He felt the vibrations of Mark's receding footsteps and hated that he was being left alone, even though it was what he asked for. He was half-blinded by an awful combination of light and darkness, but he knew he needed to keep the vision in his mind.

It felt like hours had passed before he finally heard Dean's voice, sounding as if it was reaching him through a tube. "What the fuck did you give him?" The phrase repeated itself in Castiel's mind an infinite amount of times, even though he somehow knew Dean had only said it once. "What the _fuck_ did you give him?"

There was shuffling, a demand of "get the fuck out of here" from Dean, and suddenly Castiel was yanked out of the vision when Dean's warm hands touched him, combing fingers through his hair. Castiel finally opened his eyes and realized he'd been crying, and he somehow had wound up lying on the floor.

"Cas, you're okay," Dean said, and Castiel hated how distorted Dean's face was. The green of his eyes kept slipping, sliding to the side, before reappearing where it should be and sliding away again. "Shoulda warned you to stay the hell away from LSD, too - you're just having a bad trip."

Castiel felt more tears squeeze their way out, and he shook his head.

"Cas, listen to me - whatever you're thinking you're seeing, it's not real, okay? Acid can give you some scary mindfucks."

The vision played back on repeat in Castiel's mind, and the tears wouldn't stop. "This is not... a mindfuck," he gasped, trying to calm himself down. "It's true. I wish it wasn't, but it is."

Dean began to pull him upwards, trying to get him to sit upright. "You're... Jesus, Cas, you've fucking pissed yourself," he said in disbelief. "We've gotta get you cleaned up."

"The city is filthy," Cas mumbled, not caring whether or not he really had pissed himself.

"No, _you_ are. C'mon, Cas." Dean continued pulling on Castiel, who stubbornly refused to move.

"It's to the East. No, the West. The left, it's to the left, where the sun is setting. Something's happened, Dean."

He heard Dean sigh. "What's happened?"

The tears returned, and he realized he had never felt this many emotions assaulting him at once. He didn't want to tell Dean, but he knew he had to. "Sam."

Dean immediately stilled. "What about Sam?" he asked after a moment, his voice pensive and quiet.

Castiel curled up and tucked his face into his knees. He truly wished it wasn't real, but he'd never been more sure of anything since he fell. "They're... interwoven. They're the same now."

"Cas, I'm sorry, but you're talking a whole bunch of nonsense."

"My brother and your brother. There was light, and then dark. Interwoven." Castiel pressed his palms against his eyelids, trying to cease the vision from repeating itself in his mind.

"I still don't understand, Cas."

Castiel choked on another sob. He didn't want Dean to understand, and yet also knew he had to make him understand. "Your brother and my brother are the same now," he said, knowing he was repeating himself, but he couldn't force any other words past his tongue.

"I don't -" Dean paused and lapsed into silence, and Castiel knew that Dean finally got what he'd been trying to say. He looked up to see Dean staring blankly - not at him, nor at anything; he just stared at nothing, his mouth set in a hard line. A few moments passed before Dean shook his head. "Cas, you're tripping. It's not real."

"It _is_ real! I don't want it to be real, but it is!" Castiel insisted. It would do no one any good if Dean was in denial. "I saw it happen."

Dean shook his head the entire time Castiel spoke. "Sam wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't," he insisted.

Castiel buried his face in his hands. "It's already happened, Dean. It was to the West, in a dirty, filthy city. Sam said 'yes.'"

"You're wrong!" Dean shouted, and Castiel jumped, the anger in Dean's voice tearing deep into him. He cringed and wished he could just disappear inside himself. "Cas, you're not an angel anymore. You can't see shit now, no matter what your fucking drugs tell you!" He shoved Castiel away, who slid back on the floor and curled up where he landed. The force of Dean's footsteps as he left shook the cabin right along with Castiel's entire being.

Even though he knew nothing would answer, he found himself praying to a God that wasn't there that Dean would come back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel doesn't need anyone to tell him what he's not, but that doesn't mean he knows what he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

Castiel might have no longer been an angel, but he couldn't have been entirely human, either. He was mortal, but he also was a mortal who appeared to be intrinsically tied to the only angel who still walked the earth.

He didn't need confirmation of his vision. He knew without a doubt in his mind that what he'd seen had been real, and it was hours later before he stumbled out of his cabin, cleaned up and in a fresh change of clothes. He needed to find Dean and make him understand that what he'd seen was the truth.

Bobby was easier to find than Dean, and Bobby gave Castiel that validation he had no use for: the last time Bobby had heard from Sam had been the previous day, and Sam had been headed to Detroit.

From what Castiel remembered, Detroit was indeed a dirty city.

"You know, Dean asked me the same thing a few hours ago," Bobby commented just as Castiel turned to leave. "Then he left, peeling rubber on the way out. You two know something the rest of us should?"

Dean was the one who needed proof, and it seemed as if he'd gone out looking for it. If Castiel had any tears left, they would have started falling again. "I do," he said quietly. "Dean didn't want to know." He took another step towards the door before Bobby's voice stopped him.

"Don't think I won't come chasing after you, and don't be thinking I can't catch you with just the wheels." Castiel looked over his shoulder to see Bobby glaring at him with a stony expression. "You best be telling me what the hell is going on. Dean tore out of here without any explanation. Lotta people 'round here look to him. And to you, too," Bobby added, almost as an afterthought. "Won't be long before those people start asking questions."

"Then let them ask," Castiel said. "All they need to know is that they're one step closer to the end."

"Damn it, boy." Bobby's words were quiet and tight, and Castiel decided he probably would have preferred it if he'd been shouting. "What's with the cryptic answers? You're not an angel anymore, so stop pretending to be."

The feeling that immediately welled up inside Castiel was completely foreign. It made him unpleasantly hot, an urge he couldn't put his finger on started racing around inside of him, and he found himself crossing the room in three long strides. His fingers wrapped around Bobby's jacket and lifted him partially out of his wheelchair. "I know what I am not, Robert Singer," he hissed. "And I most certainly not a 'boy.'"

"No," Bobby agreed. "But you ain't no angel, either." He didn't look the least bit intimidated, and another bubble of rage burst inside Castiel at the sight. He was once feared and respected by humanity, and now humanity had the nerve to talk down to him, as if he was somehow less than them. Something from within whispered and urged him to lash out and hurt the man in front of him.

He dropped Bobby back down, sneering as he set a hand on either arm of the chair. He leaned over Bobby, who finally appeared to spot something in Castiel's eyes that he didn't like in the least. Bobby seemed to shrink backwards, and Castiel felt an odd sense of contentment in seeing the human finally back down. "You are not my equal," he whispered in Bobby's ear before spinning on his heel to leave.

As he slammed his way out of Bobby's cabin and back into his own, all of the rage he'd been holding vanished, and he felt his knees give out. He sank to the floor, curling in on himself. "I know I'm no longer an angel," he said to the empty room. "Perhaps if I still was, I could have stopped this."

* * *

When Dean didn't want to be found, he never was. They kept his disappearance quiet, not knowing what the ramifications of his absence would be.

Castiel refused to see anyone for prayer, and soon refused to see anyone at all. He ran over his last conversation with Dean in his mind over and over again, wondering if there had been a better way for him to break the news. He wished he hadn't been tripping when the vision had come, but also wondered if he would have seen it all if he'd been sober. He constantly imagined himself reaching out and stopping Dean before he went out the door. He pictured himself following Dean outside, climbing into the passenger seat of the Impala and going with Dean on whatever journey he'd left for.

All Castiel could do was imagine. He was mortal, powerless, and he only had one chance at every moment just like any ordinary human would.

Two weeks went by, and just as people around the camp started to ask questions, Dean finally returned in the middle of the night.

Castiel had been sleeping, sitting upright and slouched against the wall. He woke up to the feel of the mattress shifting and opened his eyes to see Dean crawling over to him. Castiel wanted to grab him, kiss him, scream and yell at him for disappearing for so long, but the expression on Dean's face made him instantly snap his mouth shut.

He could tell just from looking at him that Dean had found his proof.

Neither of them said a word as Dean crawled into Castiel's arms, wrapping himself around Castiel's stomach and burying his face in Castiel's shirt. They stayed locked together for hours, and Castiel mourned in silence for Sam, for Dean's loss, for himself, and found himself wishing he still had something to pray to.

"Cas, I tried to say 'yes,'" Dean finally spoke when the first rays of daylight began filtering through the flimsy curtains. "I tried. Michael didn't come."

Castiel closed his eyes, not wanting to face possibility of Dean giving up. "The... the angels left," he said quietly. "It makes sense that Michael would go with them."

Dean's breath hitched. "I know," he whispered. "I just... there's nothing I can do." He shifted, seemingly trying to bury himself further into Castiel. "There's so much I should have done." His voice was so quiet and muffled that Castiel could barely hear it. "I should have been with Sam. I should have known where Sam was. I've been so wrapped up in..."

"This isn't your fault, Dean." Castiel's entire body ached in sympathy for Dean. It was a new, strange feeling, and he hated it more than any other human feeling he'd felt so far. He wanted to give Dean everything he could, and he knew it still wouldn't be nearly enough.

"Sam's gone, and I can't do a damn thing to change it." Dean made a choking sound that Castiel had only heard come from him once before, and it took several seconds to realize that Dean was crying. "I've never felt this helpless in my entire fucking life, Cas." Castiel could only tighten his arms around Dean's shoulders, knowing that he was the last person on earth who should be trying to talk Dean out of feeling helpless.

They held each other until Dean finally fell asleep, and Castiel shifted and laid down next to Dean as silently as he could without disturbing him. The tears had long since dried from Dean's face, but Castiel reached out and brushed his fingertips along the side of Dean's cheek regardless. He tucked himself around Dean and stared sightlessly into their cabin.

Every soul in their tiny camp looked to either Dean or himself for guidance, and neither of them had the heart to tell anyone that they shouldn't.

* * *

The field was more than familiar, and Castiel felt as if he'd spent half of his time as a mortal standing in the middle of it. The fire had finally died down, and only a few skeletal pieces of a grass still smoldered. Everything else had burnt away, leaving just dirt mixed with the soot from the fire, which made the earth surrounding him appear so black that when Castiel looked into the distance he couldn't tell where the field ended and the horizon began. The burnt earth and the starless night sky blended together into one body, and Castiel felt as if he was trapped inside of some kind of apocalyptic bubble.

Castiel was familiar enough with the setting to realize he was dreaming. The fire died down right after Lucifer took Sam, and he'd been to the field enough times to know exactly what happened next.

"Brother." The voice he'd been expecting was only a whisper in his ears, but it sounded as loud as a gunshot in his mind. 

"Lucifer," Castiel responded. He turned in a circle and couldn't see another soul in the field with him, but he knew he wasn't alone.

"Our family abandoned us. Even if you are mortal now, the two of us are the same."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "We were never close, Lucifer, even before you betrayed us. Why are you reaching out to me now?"

"Because you are still my brother. I feel so badly for you, to see you fallen so far from what you once were."

"You have fallen farther than I ever will. I may only have the strength of a mortal -"

"You are stronger than any of the humans you reside with, and you know it. You may be cut off from the host but what remains of your grace is still connected to me."

Castiel didn't answer. They'd had this conversation in his head what seemed like a thousand times over, and he still hated hearing Lucifer tell him something he never wanted to acknowledge.

"We're all we have left, Castiel."

"You're wrong." Castiel shook his head. "You're the one that's been left alone. I still have -"

"Dean?"

Castiel turned around again even as he knew he still wouldn't see anything. "Yes. I have Dean."

"Are you sure about that?"

The field blinked out of existence, and Castiel sat upright in bed. He tried to catch his breath, and his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest.

"Again?"

Castiel glanced down to see Dean frowning at him with a bleary expression. Castiel sighed, collapsing backwards onto his lumpy pillow. "Yes."

"You didn't take anything for it tonight?"

"No," Castiel said.

"Why didn't you? You know we have to leave at ass o'clock in the morning."

Castiel sighed. "That's exactly why I didn't take anything, Dean. I would be half asleep tomorrow if I took enough Valium to make sure I wouldn't dream, and I can't afford that tomorrow."

"Well, at this rate we'll both be half asleep," Dean said as he flipped onto his stomach and tucked his arms around his pillow. "We've got another couple of hours. Try not to wake me up again, okay?"

Castiel pressed his palms into his eyes and tried to ease the stinging behind his eyelids. "I'll try," he whispered.

* * *

Charleston appeared abandoned by the time they arrived, but Castiel still felt as if the city was watching them. He and Dean made their way through the broken buildings with a few others, and their group kept eyes in all directions, watching for any signs of life.

Castiel loved and hated going on recovery missions like this. He loved moving shoulder to shoulder with Dean, their adrenaline almost locking them into one being. They knew each others' moves and patterns almost as well as they knew their own, and they were able to fight side by side better than anyone else from Chitaqua. The only time Castiel felt more in sync with Dean was when they tumbled into bed together, when they knew where to move and when to breathe without ever having to say anything out loud.

They hadn't made love since Lucifer took Sam, and this was the first mission Castiel had been on since he'd had that awful vision, so Castiel found himself savoring the connection they had as they moved through the city.

He also hated it because it was likely that Charleston was beyond hope, and that anyone left in the city would be infected. They had to try, though, if only to ease their own consciences. The National Guard would be arriving the following day to lock the city down into quarantine, so this was the only chance they had to find any survivors. Once the government declared a city a hot zone, they were ordered to shoot anyone living on sight, without bothering to find out if they were infected or not.

"I'm startin' to think we're too late," Castiel heard someone mutter from behind him.

"We shouldn't give up on them," he heard Mark respond. This was only Mark's second mission, and Castiel silently admired his determination.

"Keep quiet," Dean hissed over his shoulder.

They continued soundlessly down the city streets, and even though the sun beat down on them overhead, Castiel felt cold.

They came upon a sign for the University of Charleston, and Dean suddenly raised his fist in a signal for everyone to freeze. Castiel raked his eyes across the intersection for a sign of whatever Dean had spotted.

He didn't have to look very hard. A woman came racing towards them from around the corner, crying out. Her face was muddy and tear-streaked, and she looked like she hadn't slept in days. "Please, please, please!" she said in between her gasping for breath. "Please get me out of here!" She lost her balance and fell to her knees in front of them.

Castiel's breath caught.

She looked almost normal. She was scared to death, but for the most part she looked like any other ordinary human being.

Except something definitely seemed off. Castiel blinked a few times, and then shot a sideways glance at Dean to make sure his vision was still clear before he finally directed his attention back on the girl, and whatever appeared off about her grew in strength the more he looked at her.

She almost looked out of focus, even though her surroundings still appeared clear as day to Castiel. But what disturbed Castiel the most was what made her appear out of focus - it appeared as if a thick, red mist clung to her skin, pulsing and moving with her.

Beside him, Dean had lowered his gun, but still had it pointed in her direction as he took a few steps towards her. "Where did you come from?" he asked. Castiel knew Dean was studying her, looking for any signs of an open wound, which was usually the only warning they had to go off of.

"I'm a student here," she said, still gasping as she tried to catch her breath. "I've been hiding in my dorm. I don't know where my roommate is, or my boyfriend, and I just want to call my mom and dad..." Her voice dissolved into tears.

Dean circled around her, still looking for blood. Castiel couldn't take his eyes off of her, and the red haze surrounding her was such an enormous contrast from the way Dean appeared that Castiel knew he wasn't suffering any sort of hallucination or a flashback from LSD or mushrooms. It wasn't right. She wasn't right.

"Okay, I'm gonna need you to stand up so we can get a good look at you," Dean said, and Castiel stiffened. Dean was too close to her, close enough for her to reach out and grab him, hurt him, and Dean wouldn't have enough time to react.

She sniffled, nodded and shifted her foot.

Castiel aimed, pulled the trigger, and put a bullet between her eyes.

Her body fell backwards as the sound of the shot bounced off of the building around them.

Dean blinked in shock but recovered quickly, and the look he directed towards Castiel was chilling. "What the _fuck_ , Cas?"

Castiel let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered his gun. "She was infected," he said quietly.

"How the hell did you know that?"

Castiel inched forward and shoved at the girl's body with his boot, taking care not to let any of her blood touch him, and he flipped her over onto her stomach. On the back of her thigh, a deep gash went through her jeans and straight down to her skin. It was a clean cut, not too deep, which was a surefire sign of infection, especially with the blood smeared around it. Someone had held her down and bled into her.

Dean looked at the cut and back at Castiel. "You saw that?"

"I..." Castiel hesitated. He hadn't seen it; he just knew. "Yes."

Dean's expression as he stared at Castiel didn't give away any of his thoughts, and he finally looked back towards the rest of the group. "Let's move. We've gotta get out of this part of the city, since that shot might've attracted some attention." He shot one more look at Castiel before he waved everyone on. Castiel kept his gun drawn as he followed, but left it dropped at his side.

He didn't want anyone to see how much his hands shook. 

* * *

"Every single one?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," Castiel said. "And when that large group of them came at us, it was like... the haze all melted together, like they were one body." He rubbed his eyes. "The only people I saw in the city without that red fog were all of us, and Malcolm." Malcolm was a veteran from Iraq and the sole uninfected person they found in Charleston.

The three of them sat in silence for a moment. "You have any idea why you can see it?" Bobby asked.

Castiel sighed, not wanting to answer but knowing he should. "It could be some remains of my grace. I was always able to see more than humans could when I was still an angel."

Dean leaned up against the wall of Bobby's cabin with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his lips, and his eyes were glued on Castiel. He hadn't said anything since he gave Bobby his initial report, and Castiel desperately wished he would.

Bobby leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin, considering Castiel with a thoughtful expression.

Castiel shifted. He knew why they were staring at him, but it still made him feel scrutinized and uncomfortable. He couldn't help but wonder if they were doubting their trust in him.

"Well," Bobby finally said. "If you can actually see that somebody's infected without having to look for the usual evidence, it sounds like it's gonna be more useful than anything else. The wards here won't stop Croats from getting through, so you'll make a good alarm system."

Castiel nodded, and tried not to let his relief show.

"Now get out of here," Bobby said, rolling his chair away from the table. "I'm tired, and I'm going back to sleep." He wheeled himself out of the tiny dining room and towards his bedroom. "You two should do the same."

Dean spun out of the cabin and left the door open behind him. Castiel followed, but by the time he got outside Dean was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Castiel was usually dead to the world when he took Valium to prevent himself from dreaming, which was why he was so surprised that Dean managed to rouse him out of sleep when he came clattering into their cabin in the middle of the night. Castiel blinked, forcing his heavy head off of his pillow just in time to see Dean stumble and knock over the makeshift rack they used for their coats.

Dean was undoubtedly drunk.

"Dean?" Castiel said.

"How did this..." Dean couldn't finished what he wanted to say, and he stumbled again, running into the wall. He paused there, staring in the direction of their bed with unfocused eyes.

Castiel pushed himself out of bed. He hated being awake while Valium was in his sytem - it made him feel like gravity was pulling him down, and it took an incredible amount of effort just to make his limbs move the way he wanted them to go. "Dean, you should come to bed. You need sleep," he said, placing a hand on Dean's arm.

Dean shoved his arm away, which made him lose his balance again. His feet slid across the floor, and he managed to catch himself on the wall once more before he fell. He hunched over on his knees and his fingers grasped for something on the wall that wasn't there.

"You're going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning," Castiel said. He couldn't recall ever seeing Dean this drunk.

Dean laughed. "Can't believe the apocalypse..." he said, his words slurring together so badly that Castiel could barely tell what Dean was saying. "Can't believe the apocalypse made me so fuckin' domestic."

Castiel smiled and let out a laugh of his own. "You're the one who asked me to move in with you," he said.

Dean suddenly pushed himself upright and grabbed Castiel by the arms, and his momentum shoved them both back towards the bed. Castiel lost his balance and fell backwards onto the mattress, and he groaned in pain when Dean landed heavily on top of him. He forgot the pain as soon as Dean's lips covered his own, and he let out a very different type of moan when Dean rolled his hips down into Castiel's.

He and Dean hadn't been intimate together in such a long time that Castiel didn't care that he was sluggish on Valium and Dean was drunk out of his mind. When Dean shoved a hand down into Castiel's boxers and wrapped around his already hard cock, he realized just how much he had missed it.

"I've been living in the same place for almost half a year," Dean growled into Castiel's ear as he slid his hand up and down, squeezing just a bit when he got to the tip. "Never done that before." His movements were jerky and drunken, but Castiel didn't mind. It had been so long that every touch felt glorious, and he gasped with every stroke.

"And I'm living with the person I'm fucking," Dean continued. "Never done that before, either." Castiel couldn't respond to that even if he wanted to; Dean forced his tongue into Castiel's mouth again, moving against Castiel's tongue in rhythm with his hand.

Castiel suddenly jerked in pain instead of pleasure as Dean's hand tightened around Castiel so hard that it hurt. "And every night, the person I'm fucking dreams about the guy who took my brother away from me," he hissed against Castiel's lips.

"Dean..." Castiel groaned. He didn't know what Dean meant by that - his dreams about Lucifer were never intimate, and Sam had never even been mentioned.

Dean's hand loosened, and the pain quickly faded as Dean began stroking Castiel again, firmer and smoother than before. "You know he's the reason you can see the Croats," Dean said, his lip curled upwards, and Castiel absently noticed that Dean barely sounded drunk. "You've been dreaming about him since before he took Sam."

Even with how much Castiel hated every word coming out of Dean's mouth, he couldn't help but moan as Dean ran his thumb across the underside of his cock. It had been so long, and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

"Why couldn't you tell he was closing in on Sam?" Castiel wanted to answer, but Dean abruptly slid down Castiel's body and yanked his boxers down with both hands. His lips wrapped around Castiel's cock, sliding down until his nose brushed up against Castiel's pelvic bone, and Castiel came with a choking cry, tears leaking out of his eyes.

Dean slid his mouth off, and he wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist and buried his face into Castiel's hip. "Why didn't you stop it?" he asked, his words again slurring together, and he sounded more broken than drunk.

"Dean..." Castiel's voice cracked, his throat raw from both his tears and having come so hard after such a long time. He threaded his fingers into Dean's hair and wished he knew what to say, and found he couldn't say anything because he knew Dean was right. His dreams were useless.

Even with him being able to see if someone was infected he was still useless, because Dean had still lost Sam. If only Castiel had dug deeper into his dreams when they started, perhaps he actually could have stopped Lucifer from taking Sam.

"Dean?" Castiel looked down, and saw that Dean's breathing had evened out, and his eyes were shut.

Dean had passed out.

Castiel wiped a hand across his eyes, and struggled against his heavy limbs to crawl out from underneath Dean before rolling both of them completely onto the bed as best he could. He pulled the sheets up around them both and placed a kiss on Dean's forehead. He was exhausted, and he knew that even with how much his mind was racing he wouldn't be able to fight the Valium in his system for very long.

His last conscious thought before he drifted off was that he would find some way to help, and he wouldn't let anything stand in his path. Nothing he could do would ever make up for Dean's loss, but Castiel found himself more determined than ever to make this world easier on him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of the world becomes easier to face when you know how to turn off the feeling of regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

Castiel lay on his back and stared up into the sun. He knew he shouldn't be doing it in the first place and that he should be wearing sunglasses at the very least, but something about it today drew his gaze towards it and he found himself unable to look away. He marveled at it, and his thoughts circulated around how something that appeared so small in the sky was actually larger than life and held more power than anything else in the solar system.

He wondered if the sun was more powerful than Lucifer. He couldn't remember which one had supposedly been created first, but he also couldn't remember if that mattered. Lucifer was the Morningstar, the Bringer of Light, but somehow was also the Prince of Darkness. The sun could either be his best friend or his greatest enemy.

Castiel supposed it was something he'd once known but had forgotten, just like so many other things he'd lost.

He heard giggling to his left, and he finally looked away from the sky. The afterimages from the sun made everything appear bright and dark to him at the same time, and all he could see were the silhouettes of Lily and Owen spinning each other around. Their movements blurred from one into the next as they danced across the clearing, and they kicked up swirls of dry leaves in their path.

He smiled. He'd been craving this at the same time as fearing it. The journey had been therapeutic to him every time and made him feel closer to what he once was, but there was an apprehension underneath it all. There was the faint possibility that tripping was what broke down whatever barrier remained between himself and Lucifer, and he had no desire to see Lucifer in a waking dream as he had before.

This time, though, hours passed peacefully, and Castiel felt his second theory was the correct one: whatever connection he had with Lucifer strengthened only because Lucifer found his true vessel. The timing of it made more sense than anything else, because Lucifer had no ties to anything Castiel put into his system.

His fear was the reason he asked Mark, Lily, and Owen to come with him and observe him. All three of them seemed excited when he asked, and Lily had actually thanked him for inviting them. The way she blushed and smiled at Castiel made him feel uncomfortable, but he was still glad he had the three of them there with him. He felt somewhat responsible for them, and having that responsibility grounded him.

Castiel's eyes continued following Lily and Owen around the clearing, and he saw that even when one of them missed a step they fell right back into rhythm. He never noticed it before, but they were made for each other. If they survived the apocalypse they would grow old together, and whether or not they survived the apocalypse they would surely die at each other's sides.

"I can see so much more right now," he murmured.

"You can always see more than the rest of us," Mark replied.

Castiel craned his neck and saw Mark resting against a tree behind him. "What?" he asked. He'd barely even noticed that he had spoken out loud.

"You try to hide it, but we already know that you're more than us."

Castiel shook his head and sat up, brushing a few leaves out of his hair. "I'm not."

"But you are. I don't know what I can say to convince you of that."

Castiel sighed. Mark always seemed to hang onto Castiel's every word, but he still never acknowledged the most truthful ones. "You're still connecting me to something I'm not anymore. I can't -"

"Charleston," Mark said.

Castiel blinked. Charleston had been months ago. Why was he bringing it up?

"You could see the infection inside that girl without even seeing where it had gone in."

His throat went dry. The only people who knew about that incident were himself, Dean, and Bobby. Bobby had insisted on keeping it quiet, because Castiel could easily be seen as a powerful weapon if he could spot Croats on sight. If that information reached outside Chitaqua, it could potentially make him a target.

Perhaps he'd underestimated how observant Mark could be.

"You are an angel, Castiel."

"I _was_ an angel."

"The things you've said - it's wisdom that couldn't come from any man."

Castiel didn't know how many ways he could tell Mark that he was wrong. He tried countless times, and nothing seemed to sink in.

Mark continued. "If anyone can save us, it will be you."

"No!" Castiel insisted. "I'm not the one you should be looking to. I'm nothing. I'm useless."

"No, you're not," Lily said. Castiel turned to see Lily and Owen coming to sit with them. "You've taught us more than we ever thought we would know."

Castiel couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't have taught them anything useful, not when he had forgotten everything that mattered. "Like what?"

"That we're all connected," Owen said, twisting his fingers into Lily's. "That even with the end of the world happening all around us, we're meant to survive because that's the nature of things."

"You keep complaining that you only remember things you knew as an angel when you're tripping," Mark said. He opened his bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen, passing them over towards Castiel. "You tell us some of those things, but what if you remember something we're not meant to know? Write it all down so you won't forget it."

Even if he was tripping harder than any of them, Castiel began to wonder if all three of them had completely lost their minds. No one should have looked to him hoping to see a savior. "You're asking me to keep a journal?" he asked incredulously.

Lily giggled. "That's a funny way of putting it."

"When you remember something, or realize something, write it down," Mark said. "You never know when something that's come to mind might turn out to be useful."

* * *

They trudged through woods not unlike the ones they lived near. The mission to Norfolk had been a hard one - they found nothing but Croats, and not a single survivor.

Castiel realized that taking lives with a bullet had started getting easier. The only time he flinched now was when a child's body hit the ground, and even the way that gravity hit him lessened with every city they traveled to. He figured out how to turn certain parts of himself off while they prowled through city streets, and he often found himself reluctant to turn those parts back on when they returned to Chitaqua.

They nearly reached the caravan by the time Castiel heard Mark call out for him. Castiel first assumed that Mark was seeking prayer, forgiveness for taking so many lives earlier that day, as he often did since he'd started going out on missions with them. Castiel paused, closing his eyes. "I'm very tired, Mark," Castiel said, closing his eyes, thinking of the long drive they still had ahead of them. "Perhaps when we get back to Chitaqua?"

"I'm not going back."

Castiel blinked at Mark's words, and then turned around. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the sight of the now familiar red, broken haze closing in on Mark's skin. "A girl tossed me into some glass, and another one bit me," Mark offered before Castiel could even question what happened, and Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

Mark had been infected, and Castiel felt a swell of pity rise up in his chest.

"Everything that I've left at camp - it's yours," Mark said as he held his rifle out towards Castiel. "And everything I've got here, anything that I haven't bled on - that's yours, too." He rolled up his sleeve and passed over the bracelet that had been wrapped around his wrist since he and Castiel first met.

Castiel took it, rolling the wooden beads between his fingers. "Why...?"

"It's my gift to you," Mark replied. He shrugged off his backpack and handed it over, and finally drew out his handgun. When he flipped the safety off Castiel drew back in alarm, but didn't move to defend himself. Croats didn't usually go for guns, and it was too soon for Mark to be showing the usual homicidal tendencies in the first place. Mark flipped the gun around and held it out towards Castiel grip first, with the barrel pointing back towards his own body.

Castiel stared down at the gun, completely unsure of what was happening.

"Take it," Mark said, his voice pleading, and Castiel's hand finally wrapped around the grip, instinct automatically curling his finger around the trigger.

As soon as the gun left his hands, Mark sank down to his knees in front of Castiel, bowing his head. "You are the closest I've ever been to God."

Castiel repressed a sigh as he gave a slight shake of his head. He'd had this conversation too many times, with Mark and with others. "I am not God."

"I know! I know," Mark insisted as a tear began rolling down his cheek. "But you are proof that God is among us."

The man was deluded, but Castiel had no desire to set Mark's assumptions straight. Why should he ruin the man's shrewd hope when he had only a few scarce minutes of life remaining?

"You've helped me find more faith than I've ever had before," Mark continued. "I've learned so much from you, and I just wish..." He paused, and Castiel winced when he heard Mark let out a choking sob. "I wish I could stand by your side until the end, because I know you will save us."

Everything pouring from Mark's lips was wrong. Castiel wouldn't be the one to save them - if anyone could, it was Dean. Not Mark, nor anyone, would be standing by Castiel's side at the end, because Castiel would be standing by Dean's. How could Mark get the truth so twisted?

"Castiel." Mark's voice sounded more sure and insistent than ever. "Please be the one to do it."

It wasn't necessary for Castiel to ask Mark what he meant. Castiel knew he should be the one to take Mark's life, anyway. It was the unspoken rule of the world they lived in - when someone was found to be infected, they were to be put down immediately before they had a chance to turn.

'Immediately' had already passed and Castiel knew he didn't have much more time, but something stopped him. This was too different from all the other lives he had taken. It was one thing to kill in the heat of battle, or to take someone out from behind when they began to show symptoms. Castiel found himself almost wishing that Mark hadn't told him; he knew that he or Dean or someone else would have figured it out before it was too late.

Instead, Mark was on his knees in front of Castiel, and his eyes were more pleading than Castiel could bear. "Be the one to give me my last rites and send me to the gates."

Another human misconception: Heaven never had gates. Even if it had, Castiel doubted Heaven still existed, at least in the way it had when he last stepped foot in his old home. He was never sure how much of Heaven was sustained by the angels, and with the angels gone it was more than a little likely that nothing remained.

But Castiel couldn't tell that particular truth to Mark, either. Because not even Castiel was certain what laid beyond death now, it was best that Mark live out his last few moments in ignorance so he could have some peace. Castiel finally gave Mark a shuddering nod.

" _Kyrie eléison_." Castiel lacked all of the proper materials, so he simply pressed two fingers to his lips and placed them on Mark's forehead, hoping Mark would accept that instead of oil. Thankfully, Mark closed his eyes in response. Castiel swallowed heavily to try to keep his voice steady as he continued. " _Et ne nos inducas in tentationem_..."

He couldn't do it. Everything in the ritual was a lie, Heaven was possibly a lie, and God was definitely a lie. Mark didn't open his eyes when Castiel paused, though, and he instead seemed to be waiting patiently for Castiel to continue.

Castiel took one step back and raised the shotgun. "May the almighty God bless you," he said, and he pulled the trigger.

Without any buildings around for the sound to bounce off of, the shot was quieter than he expected it to be, and the hollow thud of Mark's body hitting the ground rang louder in his ears than the gunshot.

Castiel methodically pushed the safety back into place and stepped around the growing puddle of infected blood, taking care not to let it touch him.

"You're not going to start doing that for all of your little followers, are you?"

He didn't know how long Dean had been watching, but Castiel didn't allow it to startle him, and he instead glanced down at Mark's body once more. "He asked. It was the least I could do," he said, swinging Mark's bag over his shoulder before turning around to face Dean.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You need to be more careful." A pang hit Castiel in the chest as he remembered passing those exact words to Dean in a different time and place. "Some of them get infected faster than others. He might've been lying to try and get close to you."

Castiel nearly felt insulted. He'd been a part of the battle long enough to recognize when someone was fully under the influence of the virus or not, even without his senses. "He wasn't."

"You don't know that -"

"But I _do_ know that, Dean," Castiel insisted, his brow furrowing in irritation. "And you know how I know that."

"You shouldn't trust it." Dean's voice sounded unexpectedly hard. "That sense you get comes from Lucifer. He could use that against you someday."

Castiel couldn't help his reaction. "I am more than you give me credit for," he snapped. "I am more than those senses. I may be mortal, but I still lived for _thousands_ of years as an angel." He closed the distance between himself and Dean with a few long strides, stopping only when there was barely an inch separating them. "I know more about this world than you will ever know, Dean. I may be missing pieces of myself, but I am still much more in tune with everything than you will ever be."

Dean's expression changed from annoyance to something Castiel found he couldn't read. "That so?"

"Yes, that's so." Castiel brushed past Dean, stalking back towards the caravan, fully intent on finding a vehicle different from the one he came in. He had no interest in making the seven hour drive back to Chitaqua sitting next to Dean.

He couldn't bear the way Dean looked at him.

* * *

When they arrived back in Chitaqua, Castiel took the first chance he found to slip away and skirt into the surrounding woods. As far as he knew, the only one who had seen what he'd done had been Dean, but Mark's absence had already been noticed and no one questioned Castiel's muttered excuse that he just needed a few moments alone.

He found his way to a familiar path, one that had likely been formed by deer, but had been of use to himself, Mark, and a few others in the time they'd spent in Chitaqua. It led to a small clearing, and when he finally reached his destination, his breath caught. It was where he often led the others in prayer, where Mark had given him his notebook, and where he and Mark had first been introduced.

Mark hadn't exactly been a friend. The relationship had been too one-sided, with far too much worship and veneration directed towards Castiel. But Castiel still respected Mark, and he felt regret when the bullet left the chamber.

He did feel regret, but he did not mourn. He had neither the time nor the energy to mourn everyone they'd lost, especially when they would continue to lose more as they marched on towards the end.

He wandered over to a log at the edge of the clearing, throwing Mark's bag down to the forest floor, and his own bag landed beside it. He may not have had the time to mourn Mark's passing, but he did learn a thing or two from him during their hours of conversations, and Mark had mentioned that everything in the bag was now his. He proceeded to go through Mark's backpack from top to bottom, checking every pocket and pouch, until he had everything the bag contained methodically laid out in front of him.

He tossed what he was familiar with into his own bag - mostly oxycodone, which he had tried with Mark, and hydrocodone, which he had not. Everything he remembered Mark mentioning went in along with the painkillers. He also remembered Joe throwing the word "Adderall" around, and he tossed those in next to the others, curious about their effects. Everything he heard of but knew wouldn't have any effect went back into Mark's bag.

By the time he finished sorting everything out, the sun was beginning to set, which gave him just enough light to make his way out of the woods and over to the largest cabin in camp. Chuck lived there, but it also served as storage for the camp's general supplies. Castiel hadn't seen much of Chuck since they first came to Chitaqua, but he knew Chuck had somehow wound up in charge of keeping track of everything coming in and going out. It might have been by Dean or Bobby's suggestion, just to give Chuck something to do, but Castiel was never clear on that.

He rapped on Chuck's door and heard rustling, a clatter, and then a flurry of swear words from inside before Chuck finally opened the door. He looked tired, as everyone in the camp did, but Castiel couldn't help but notice that he seemed to shrink back on himself when he saw Castiel's face. "Um... h-h-hey, Cas," he stammered, his sleepy eyes suddenly open wide.

Castiel cocked his head to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Fine!" Chuck practically chirped. "I'm fine. Uh, what can I do for you?"

Chuck had been jumpy since Castiel first met him and he'd apparently gotten worse since they came to New York, so Castiel ignored Chuck's nervousness and passed Mark's bag over the threshold. "I thought you might like to add these to the stores."

Chuck blinked stupidly before taking the bag and peering inside. "High blood pressure medication?"

Castiel shook his head. "There's more than that in there. Antibiotics, anti-inflammatory drugs, some other things that we will probably need."

"Oh. Oh!" Chuck nodded, reaching into the bag and rifling through it. "Yeah, someone is bound to get sick eventually. Last thing we need is some disease other than Croatoan wiping us out." He pulled out a small bottle and squinted at the label. "Wow, this... where'd you get all this, Cas?"

"Mark had it with him. He had been raiding pharmacies whenever he had the chance."

"Tell him 'thanks,' then -"

"He's dead."

Chuck's gaze jerked away from the bottle and towards Castiel just as he re-shouldered his bag and turned to leave. "How?" he asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "Did he... I mean, was it..."

Castiel sighed. "It was the virus, Chuck," he said over his shoulder as he began walking towards his cabin. "Just like everyone else we've lost."

* * *

The light in their cabin started flickering a few weeks before, and Castiel could see Dean's silhouette winking in and out through the window. Castiel's tired trudge took on a lighter step, and he nearly skipped up the steps, wanting to do nothing more than collapse into their bed, preferably with Dean if Dean would allow it, but Castiel froze when he burst through the door.

Dean held Castiel's notebook in his hands. The gospel that he had been working on for months, containing all the wisdom he had gained from the world, his experience from millennia as an angel and a warrior of God, was laid open and bare.

"What is this?" Dean asked as he turned a page.

"It's..." Castiel dropped his bag by the door and hoped Dean either hadn't heard the plastic bottles rattling around inside or just flat-out ignored the sound. He crossed the room, half of him wanting to tear the book out of Dean's hands, and the other half praying that Dean hadn't read the most recent pages, the ones with paragraph after paragraph lamenting about Dean's absence in his life. "They are things I've remembered."

When Dean finally looked away from the book, Castiel realized that he and Dean hadn't met each others' eyes in weeks. He couldn't be sure if knowing that such a long time had passed startled him more than actually meeting Dean's eyes and not recognizing what he saw in them.

"Remembered from what?" Dean asked.

"From... before," Castiel said. "Before the rest of the angels left. I've been trying to remember everything that I knew before, everything that I lost when..." He paused, knowing that Dean disliked when he lamented about 'before.'

Dean's expression didn't change, not even giving so much as a twitch of the eyebrow. "What were you on when you wrote all this?"

Castiel blinked. He wasn't entirely sure why that mattered, so he chose to ignore the question. "Something in there might help us -" Dean cut him off with a short bark that almost resembled a laugh, and his gaze dropped back down to the notebook in his hands.

"Right." Dean never raised his voice, but some layer within it sounded clipped and heavy, and Castiel hated it.

"Dean -" He couldn't finish what he wanted to say. Dean pushed the notebook into his chest and shoved past him in a single movement that seemed incredibly sudden after all the stillness. Castiel managed to catch the book, only to hear the door slam shut moments later.

Dean was gone again.

He sighed and sank down onto the mattress just as he'd been craving since they left Norfolk, but as his eyes traveled around the cabin he realized he hated being there. The cabin felt empty without Dean, but Castiel didn't have anywhere else to go.

He worried his lower lip for a moment before propping himself up onto his side, nearly rolling right on top of the notebook he'd tossed onto the ratty sheets. He stared at it for a moment and wondered exactly what it was that Dean had read that made him storm away. He began to idly flip through the pages, silently thanking Mark for telling him to capture all of his thoughts and understanding of the world, but one page made him stop.

_Time is round. Everything spins, and we are all in a constant oscillation. Every part of life, every aspect of every idea is all part of a larger cycle._

Castiel read it over and over again. He realized he even remembered writing that one, and just how pleased he'd been with the revelation.

Reading it again months later, he realized it was a revelation that made no sense. Even if it once had some deeper meaning that Castiel had lost, it was still absolutely useless.

He sat up, flipping back to the beginning of the notebook, skimming through everything he'd written in the last few months, trying to find a larger meaning in his words.

_What once was will never be again, except for when it is._

_Those who lie with their eyes are the most dangerous of all creatures._

_There are three different versions of me._

He had no clue what that last one meant, he didn't even remember writing it, and he began to grow desperate and frustrated as he flipped through the utterly mad and sometimes philosophical ravings that had apparently come from himself.

Useless. It was all completely useless.

The thing that had last welled up inside of him when Bobby had called him 'boy' came roaring back up, and he felt as if he was on fire. The only thing he could take that fire out on was his damn notebook, and he found himself tearing the pages out and apart before he even fully realized what he was doing. It didn't satisfy him nearly enough, so he threw what remained of the notebook across the cabin with all of his strength where it landed with a loud slap against the adjacent wall. He suddenly buckled in on himself, shaking, hating everything he felt rolling around inside his mind and his gut. He wanted so badly to just turn it all off.

He was useless.

No wonder Dean wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

He pressed his palms into his eyes, and the pressure he placed there seemed to somewhat relieve the pressure within. He took a few deep breaths, promptly decided he didn't want to feel the way he felt any longer, and he half stumbled and half crawled across the floor and over to the bag he dropped earlier. He dug through it with shaking hands, looking for something that would just send him spiraling into unconsciousness. He finally pulled out a bottle of Valium, and just as he started to struggle with the cap, his notebook once again caught his eye, nearly hidden on the ground just behind his bag. It had fallen open to a page that was nearly blank except for a single line. He read it, then read it again.

He dropped the Valium back into his bag and picked up the notebook, staring at his scrawled handwriting. The fury and the emptiness inside started ebbing away as he read the line repeatedly. He knew what it said, but he couldn't stop, almost as if he expected the words to change in front of his eyes. He sat down and leaned up against the wall, his eyes never leaving the page. He had no idea how long he sat and read the one line with as much as intensity as he would have once directed towards the gospels, and hours might have passed before he finally lowered the book.

_I hold more power over humanity as a mortal than I ever held over humanity as an angel._

Even if the rest of it turned out to be a waste, at least he had found one true thing in his words.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't even think. He just reacted, and Castiel's fist flew into Dean's jaw before he even realized what he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

"You seem distracted today."

Castiel didn't look up from his work. His hands shook, and he couldn't afford to waste a drop. "I am, a bit," he replied.

"Is it that woman? The one who got here last night?"

His hand twitched involuntarily, and he winced as he missed the slip of paper and watched the the drop of liquid fall to the ground. "Lisa." He should have had one of the others prepare these. He'd finally run through the remains of the hydrocodone he found in Mark's bag, and he felt as if he was about to jump straight out of his skin. "Her name is Lisa Braeden."

"Who is she?"

Castiel sighed, irritated. "She's an old friend of Dean's."

"She seemed upset."

"Many people who come here are often upset, Caroline."

"They shouldn't be. She should have come and talked to you instead of Dean." Castiel heard Caroline shuffle her feet in the dirt before she continued. "You always cheer me up whenever I'm upset."

Castiel set the eyedropper down and finally glanced up to see Caroline smiling at him. "She lost her son," he said. Dean hadn't come in at all the night before, and each time Castiel woke up he found Dean and Lisa outside on the porch of their cabin. "Dean knew him, as well." He leaned back and rolled his neck, but it did nothing to ease the kinks he felt running up and down his back. "Go sit with the others, Caroline. This will be ready soon."

Caroline nodded and walked over to the tall oak the others were sitting near. They started calling it 'Mark's tree' just after he died since it had been his favorite, and it seemed to become a favorite of theirs. Castiel watched them another moment, and then stretched, trying again to ease the tingling in his spine. He hadn't slept well the night before, and he desperately wished he hadn't finished off the hydrocodone so fast. He made a note to himself to check with Chuck later to see if anyone had brought any in.

He sighed and shook his head. He would worry about it later. He had a full day to spend with the others, and he intended to use every hour of it. He picked up the eyedropper again and placed a drop of liquid on the last slip of paper before carefully closing the bottle of LSD and tucking it into his bag. He picked up the tiny tray and made his way over to the others.

"Only five?" Joe asked when Castiel sat down.

"Who doesn't get one?" Lily asked.

"Me," Castiel replied. "I'm just going to be looking out for you today." He rarely dropped acid anymore, and when he did he usually only took half of a usual hit. He had to be careful about what he said around them, and LSD sometimes seemed to make him lose control of his mouth. "So who's first?"

Bea crawled forward across the grass. "It was my birthday yesterday."

Castiel smiled at her. "Happy birthday, then. Close your eyes."

Bea obediently shut her eyes and opened her mouth, and Castiel placed one of the slips of paper on her tongue. "Next!"

Joe came forward, then Owen and Lily, and finally Caroline, who gave him the shyest of smiles before accepting the last hit.

Castiel set the tray down. "Go and... climb a tree, or whatever you want to do. Just stay where I can see you." Lily suggested a playing game of tag, and Castiel watched them run across the clearing, soaking up the sun. It looked more like a dance than a game.

After several minutes he finally glanced to his side. "You don't want to run with them, Caroline?" He supposed it didn't matter, but he'd found long ago that it was easier to watch them than to converse.

Caroline shook her head. "No. I'd rather stay by you."

"Why is that?"

Caroline looked down and pulled a few blades of grass out of the ground. "Because you seem sad today."

Castiel didn't say anything. Caroline always seemed to be in tune with his feelings. It hadn't created a problem thus far, but it still bothered him.

"Is it because of Dean?" she asked. "And Lisa?"

"I..." Castiel thought about denying it, but decided there wasn't any harm in being truthful. "Yes. It's because of Dean."

"He doesn't know what he has," Caroline said. "He doesn't know what you are."

Castiel laughed. "Actually, he knows better than anyone else."

"But I don't think he knows what you _mean_."

Castiel studied her for a moment. She swayed back and forth as if she was a branch in the breeze, and her pupils looked just a little larger than they normally did. "And what do I mean, Caroline?" he asked.

Caroline smiled and folded her knees up, hugging them to her chest. "Mark always said you were going to save us."

He shook his head. It seemed like they believed more of what had come out of Mark's mouth than what came out of his own. "The only people who can save you are yourselves. I've told you this."

Caroline sighed. "I know. But you're the one showing us how."

Castiel nodded, satisfied with that answer. "And Dean -"

"- is the one who's going to protect us until the end."

"Exactly. It's a circle, Caroline," Castiel said. "I watch over you five. You watch over Dean. And Dean - "

"Dean watches over everyone," Caroline finished. "Is that why he's so cold sometimes? Because he has to look out for so many people?"

"Yes." He nodded towards the others, not wanting to discuss Dean any further. "Go get them. It's time for today's prayers." As Caroline ran towards the other four, Castiel narrowed his eyes. Dean had been cold to nearly everyone recently, including Bobby and himself. The previous night, though, he saw a warmth and kindness in Dean he hadn't seen in a very long time.

What unnerved Castiel was the fact that Dean's warmth had been directed towards someone else.

* * *

He stayed with them for their entire trip, and the sun was beginning to set by the time they walked back to camp together. Castiel said his good byes and contemplated going to see Chuck about the hydrocodone, but he decided he desperately needed to change his clothes first. Running around underneath the hot sun all afternoon almost certainly made him reek. He made his way over to his cabin, wondering if Dean had gotten back from the supply run he'd gone on earlier.

When he walked in he heard a sound coming from the other room, which he immediately recognized as Dean groaning. He crossed the cabin as quick as he could, wondering how Dean had been hurt doing something so simple, and he stopped when he got to the back.

Dean was naked on their bed, tangled up in the sheets. Every inch of his body moved in a steady, painfully familiar rhythm as Lisa writhed beneath him.

Castiel froze.

They didn't even see him. They just continued moving against each other, and they didn't make a sound apart from panting and gasping into each others' mouths.

Castiel slowly backed up, unable to tear his eyes away. He made his way out onto the porch and out into the camp without having any idea where he was going, and his heart felt as if it was about to beat straight out of his chest. A pit yawned open in his stomach, and he realized he was shaking. He didn't like it when his feelings assaulted him from out of nowhere, and he recognized the onset of something he knew he wouldn't like.

He'd much rather feel nothing.

He knew he had a few narcotics in his bag that would serve as a perfect remedy, but that was back in the cabin, and there was no way he was going back in there.

"Boy, you look like death."

Castiel looked up and found he had wandered over near Bobby's cabin. Bobby sat just outside his door, a glass in his hand and a nearly full bottle of whiskey on the ground next to him. "Not a boy," Castiel muttered.

Bobby chuckled. "Yeah, we've established that by now."

Castiel nodded to the bottle on the ground. "May I?"

"Help yourself," Bobby said. "Lifted it off Chuck, anyway."

He sat down on the ground beside Bobby and noticed it was a glass bottle with a plastic cap, and he winced at the memory of Dean telling him that was a sign of cheap, slightly watered down whiskey. Castiel shrugged, twisted off the cap and lifted it to his lips, taking it down in deep swallows. It burned going down, and it felt wonderful.

Bobby let out an impressed whistle. "Something's _really_ bugging you."

Castiel lowered the whiskey and noticed he had already downed half of the bottle. "Yes," he said, wiping the back of his mouth. "Something is really bugging me." He raised the bottle back towards Bobby. "Sorry I drank so much of it."

Bobby waved his hand. "Keep it. I got another one inside."

Castiel nodded and screwed the cap back on. He stood up and brushed off the back of his jeans, then glanced at Bobby over his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Uh, anytime."

He continued to wander across the camp, not wanting to go anywhere near his and Dean's cabin. He felt as if something awful was growing inside of him, and he didn't want to be anywhere near Dean when it burst.

Dean was fucking Lisa in their bed.

Castiel winced as the image rose up in his mind again. He cursed himself for having such a human reaction to seeing it, and then cursed himself again for letting his thoughts trail back to Dean. He again raised the whiskey to his lips, tilting the bottle back until it started bubbling down his throat. He pocketed the nearly empty bottle just as the sun finished setting.

"Castiel? Cas?"

He turned. Joe sat just outside of his tent, holding a stick that he'd been using to poke the small fire a few feet away.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked.

"No," Castiel replied. "Do you have anything?"

"Do I have -" Joe stopped as he apparently realized what Castiel was asking for. "Caroline and Bea are in there," he said, gesturing towards the tent with the stick. "They've got some meth."

"Meth." Castiel thought the word sounded familiar, and it took him a moment to realize that he hadn't heard about it from Mark, but from Dean. "Crystal meth?"

"Yeah. Don't ask me where they found it, much less who made it. Everything's hard to get a hold of these days -"

Castiel swept past him and ducked down into the tent.

Dean specifically asked him not to do crystal meth, and that just made him want to try it even more.

* * *

"I saw you."

Dean lay on the mattress, clad only in a beaten up pair of jeans and thankfully alone. He'd thrown his arm across his eyes and he didn't answer, but Castiel knew he was awake.

"Why did you have to fuck her _here_ , of all places?"

"She was hurting," Dean responded, only his lips moving while the rest of him remained still.

" _I_ was hurting!" Castiel shouted without even meaning to, and he stopped and took a deep breath. "I've been hurting," he continued, quieter. "And aching and itching and about ready to jump straight out of my skin -"

"That's called withdrawal."

Castiel hurled his empty bottle over Dean's head and it shattered up against the wall, and tiny shards of glass fell down around Dean as he rolled off the mattress, covering his head with his arms. He stood up to meet Castiel face to face, and Dean seemed to study him for a moment before he said anything, and when he spoke his voice sounded much too calm for having a bottle just been thrown at him. "You're turning into a junkie, Cas."

He didn't even think. He just reacted, and Castiel's fist flew into Dean's jaw before he even realized what he was doing. Dean stumbled back and Castiel felt somewhat satisfied at that, but it still wasn't enough. Dean didn't move to hit him back, and that just enraged him even more.

He spun on his heel and marched back into the front of the cabin, and his eyes raked across the room before he spotted Dean's shotgun leaning up against the wall. He grabbed it and ran outside before Dean could follow him, checking to make sure it was loaded as he moved across the camp.

Dean wasn't Dean anymore.

One of the things that Castiel had always loved about Dean was how much his emotions drove him, how he let them guide him in all of his choices. It had been Dean's emotions that convinced him to turn his back on heaven and his family, and it had been Dean's emotions that helped him through those first few hard months as a mortal.

While Castiel had simply turned parts of himself off in order to face the end with a clear head, Dean seemed to have killed off the parts of him that Castiel loved. He didn't seem to have any emotion anymore, and if he did Castiel no longer had the privilege of seeing it.

Castiel finally found what he'd been looking for, and he raised the shotgun to his chest and took aim.

The windows went first.

He circled around the Impala, methodically taking his shots and cocking the gun. Each window shattered inward, and he took a step over and moved to the next. The windshield was the last surviving piece of glass, and when two well-placed shots didn't do anything more than create tiny spiderweb cracks spiraling out from the bullet holes, he moved his aim just a bit lower. He put four bullets through the hood and into the engine before someone tackled him to the ground, scrambling to tear the shotgun out of his hands.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean hissed in his ear, and Castiel loved hearing the anger in his voice. Castiel threw his elbow behind him and Dean grunted as it struck the center of his chest, but he managed to wrench the gun from Castiel's hands as he reeled back. "You're gonna start a fire!" Dean shouted as struggled to stand up.

Castiel didn't think it was possible for him to feel any more rage, but he found he had to restrain himself from tackling Dean. Taking Dean on in a physical fight nearly guaranteed Castiel losing, so he just clenched his teeth and moved to his feet. Spikes of pain ran through his shoulder from where he landed on the ground, but he ignored it in favor of glaring back at Dean. " _That's_ why you're mad?" Castiel said, his voice rising in volume with every word. "Not because I just broke your car, but because I'm going to start a fucking _fire_?"

He couldn't stop himself any longer and he shoved Dean with all of his strength, sending him staggering back into the Impala. The gun in Dean's hands scraped along the hood, leaving a long scratch in the paint, and Dean didn't even seem to notice as he stood up and shoved Castiel right back.

Castiel regained his balance before he fell, and he and Dean stood across from one another, identical expressions of fury etched across their faces as they stared each other down.

"Why won't you get angry with me?" Castiel asked.

"I'm plenty fucking angry at you right now, Cas, believe me."

"And that's the first emotion you've shown me in months," Castiel said, and he nearly spat the words out of his mouth. "And it's for the wrong reasons."

Dean shook his head. He pushed past Castiel and walked away without a word, and without even a single look back.

Castiel rubbed a hand across his eyes, and started to walk around the Impala again until his knees seemed to give out, and he collapsed to the ground. He hissed as his palms landed on a few tiny shards of glass that hadn't fallen inside the car as most of it had, and he jerked his hands up, staring down at the tiny beads of blood that had already started to well up.

He'd been in this exact position once before, and he started laughing at the familiarity of it. Dean had been with him then, and his arms and his voice had wrapped around Castiel, centering him, grounding him after something else had been taken from him. Dean wasn't at his side for this fall.

For the first time, Castiel found himself wishing he'd been able to go with his brothers and sisters when they left.

* * *

The sound of gunfire and Dean and Castiel shouting at each other had apparently been loud enough to draw attention, and by the next morning it seemed that everyone in Chitaqua had heard about their confrontation. Most avoided the subject with Castiel and Chuck wouldn't even meet his eyes when he asked about the hydrocodone, but Bobby told him he wanted to smack both of them silly.

"You and Dean are the ones that everyone here looks to. If you two are having problems, everyone else here is gonna be having problems, too."

Castiel waved off Bobby's concern, and he and Dean didn't speak a word to each other until Dean woke him up in the middle of the night nearly a week later.

It must have taken some considerable effort on Dean's part. Castiel had doubled his usual sleeping concoction since he and Dean had fought, and he barely knew what he was looking at when he opened his eyes.

"Can I sleep with you?" Dean asked quietly, his eyes not meeting Castiel's.

Castiel just stared at him, confused. "What?"

"I can't sleep," Dean said. "Can I sleep in here?"

Castiel rubbed a hand down his face, then nodded and opened his arms.

* * *

"Should we really be following Dean around when you're so angry with him?" Joe asked.

"Yes," Castiel replied, leaning back on his elbows. "Dean and I just had a disagreement, and that disagreement has nothing to do with the bigger picture."

He heard someone giggling, and he looked across the campfire to see Lily and Owen rolling around in the dirt, playfully wrestling in nothing but their underwear. It was a sight he was now used to, but something about it sent a pang across his chest.

He missed Dean.

Sleeping together at night was pleasant, but their relationship had changed significantly.

He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey, which he had taken from Chuck when he found the supply cabin lacking in painkillers. It seemed that even if they ran low on toothpaste or bread they always had an endless supply of cheap whiskey and beer, and it had become the only medicine that eased his pain over the last few days.

Caroline sat down beside him, tucking her knees up to her chest against the cool night air. "I have a present for you," she said.

"Oh, really?" Castiel smiled. "And what is it?"

"This first." She reached into her bag and pulled out a large figure, and the finish on it winked in the firelight as she passed it over to him.

"Buddha?" he asked.

She laughed. "I've had it in my tent for months. You were saying something the other day that reminded me of it."

"What was that?"

"When you were telling us that even though this is the end, our suffering is an illusion."

He snorted, mildly amused at his own words. They'd been a lie. Suffering was an inherent part of being human. "Yes, I suppose that was a very Buddhist thing to say." He set the figure down by the rest of this things. "Thank you, Caroline."

"I have something else for you, too."

"What is this, my birthday?"

Caroline blinked in surprise. "Do you have a birthday?"

"I..." He paused. "I don't think so." It wasn't something he'd thought about before, and it wasn't something he'd exactly missed. "I don't need a birthday."

She giggled. "I guess not." She leaned in close to him, and her lips brushed up against his ear. "Can I kiss you?"

He tilted his head to the side, his eyebrow hiked. "Is that your other present?"

"It's part of it. Close your eyes."

He mulled it over for a moment, and he did. Her lips were different from Dean's. She kissed differently, too, going down where Dean had gone up, and it took Castiel a moment to find the right rhythm with her. When something small and rounded suddenly slipped from her tongue to his, he drew back and rolled it around in his mouth. "What is this?" he asked.

"Vicodin."

Castiel swallowed the pill dry and didn't bother to ask where she found it. "How much do you have?"

"Enough to share with you." She pulled back and slipped another one into her mouth, and the smile she gave him was nothing else but teasing. Castiel reached around and gently tugged her toward him by the neck and his tongue dove into her mouth, searching for the tiny pill inside. He found it, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his lap.

She gave him three more hydrocodone-filled kisses, and he realized with a start that his body was actually responding to her in a way it hadn't responded to anyone but Dean before. She grinned at him, and he knew she could feel where he was hard. She arched her back and pulled her t-shirt over her head, laughing, and he suddenly found two pert breasts right in front of his face. It seemed that either the girls hadn't been lying when they said bras were hard to find these days, or Caroline simply didn't like wearing one.

"What should I do with this?" she asked coyly, dangling the t-shirt from her fingertip.

Caroline wanted it. Castiel wasn't sure how much he wanted it but he could tell his body certainly did, especially after she rolled her hips down in Castiel's, slowly and deliberately, and that familiar spike of pleasure he'd been desperately missing ran through him head to toe. He grabbed her shirt and tossed it over her head and into the fire.

"Woah!" Bea exclaimed. "What's going on over there?"

"Something fun," Castiel said. "And we all need as much of that as possible." He ran his hands down Caroline's back, taking in the curves and planes that were so very different from Dean's body, but definitely still becoming. He drew her body closer to him and he kissed her neck, and his eyes met Joe and Bea's over her shoulder. He grinned at both of them and glanced across the fire at Lily and Owen, who were also watching them in curiosity. He nodded at all of them in invitation. "You're free to join in."

* * *

Dean continued fucking Lisa, and Castiel continued having fun with Caroline and the others. He found that Joe and Bea in particular were very fun. They acted bashful, but they responded beautifully. He memorized everyone's scents and where they liked to be touched, and he became thoroughly intrigued when he realized that all five of them would perform exactly as he asked. They kissed whomever he asked them to kiss, and they kissed him whenever he wanted them to.

Every night, though, he and Dean would still crawl into their bed together. They never made love anymore, and never even kissed anymore, but somehow the only thing that could help them both sleep at night was lying in each others' arms.

It wasn't everything that Castiel wanted, but it was better than nothing, even if the only significant time they spent together was spent in unconsciousness. They rarely spoke anymore, but they finally had something resembling a conversation when Dean clattered into their cabin and grunted that he would be leaving for Orlando for a routine re-con mission in about an hour.

"Who's going?" Castiel wondered if Dean would even bother asking him.

"Greg, Charlie, Yager, Risa." Dean rattled off the usual crowd. "Willis. Malcolm." Castiel rolled his eyes. He hated Malcolm's attitude, but he had gone on nearly every mission since they retrieved him from Charleston because his military experience came in handy. "Lisa."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise? Lisa's never been in the field."

"She lost Ben," Dean said as he pulled out his bag and started packing it. "She wants to help. May as well get her started."

Castiel wasn't sure if he believed that reasoning, and he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Do you not want me on this one, then?" he asked quietly.

"No." Dean tossed his shotgun on top of everything else in his bag, and then took out his handgun to inspect it. He slipped the clip into place and his movements paused, but he still didn't meet Castiel's eyes. "Cas..."

"It's okay, Dean. I understand."

"It's not because I'm pissed at you, and it's not because of Lisa," Dean said. "It's just that it'll take us about a week to get down there and back, and both of us can't be gone that long."

Castiel snorted. Dean had either truly taken Bobby's words to heart, or just used them as a convenient rationalization to leave him behind. Either way, it wasn't something worth fighting over. "Go to it then, fearless leader. I'll keep an eye on things here," he said, mildly proud that he managed to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

Dean nodded, then left without another word.

* * *

The sun was beating down at high noon when the Orlando caravan rolled back into camp a day earlier than they thought they would. Castiel sat by Joe's tent with Bea and Owen as the trucks started unloading, and he raised an eyebrow when he started counting the new faces.

"Looks like this one was fairly successful," he commented.

"Nearly ten this time," Bea said in agreement.

"Think any of them will be any fun?" Owen asked, grinning.

Castiel was about to answer, but he sat up in alarm when Lisa walked around one of the trucks and into his line of vision.

"What's wrong?" Bea asked when she noticed Castiel's expression.

"Lisa is infected," he replied. That awful red haze clung to her skin, thick and heavy. He immediately started looking for Dean, and he spotted him making his way over to Bobby's cabin. Lisa had to have been infected at least since they left Orlando, and with how long that drive took there was absolutely no question about if she had turned or not. Dean hadn't even noticed, so she had to have been one of the sneakier Croats. They were rare, but they were out there.

"Does Joe have any rope in his tent?" Castiel asked.

"There's a Croat walking around the camp!" Bea exclaimed. "Shouldn't someone just kill her?"

"No!" Castiel voice was louder than he intended, and Bea seemed to shrink away from him. "No," he said again, calmer, and he shook his head and climbed to his feet. "Dean needs to know first. The two of them are close, and he deserves to know." He looked over and Bea and Owen to make sure they understood. "We need to capture her, but not kill her."

"We can do that," Owen said. He reached down and pulled the shoelace out of one of his boots, and before Castiel could say anything else Bea and Owen were sprinting at top speed across the camp. Bea placed a swift, firm kick to the back of Lisa's legs and tackled her to the ground, digging a knee into Lisa's back. Castiel raised an eyebrow at the sight. He tended to forget that Bea was still the daughter of a hunter.

He caught up to them just as Owen finished wrapping his shoelace around Lisa's wrists, binding them tightly. "What the hell is this?" Lisa spat dust out of her mouth and struggled beneath the two of them on the ground.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering," Malcolm demanded, and he made an immediate beeline towards her.

"Don't," Castiel warned, but Malcolm didn't stop moving until Castiel drew his gun and pointed it at Malcolm's chest. "She's a Croat."

"She's infected?" Malcolm asked in disbelief, and Castiel sighed in annoyance. He really despised Malcolm's attitude sometimes.

"Let me go! I haven't done anything!" Lisa said. "I'm not one of them!"

Castiel ignored her. "I'll get Dean," he said quietly, flipping the safety of his gun into place and tucking it into the back of jeans before he turned on his heel and headed for Bobby's.

Dean and Bobby looked up from a map when Castiel entered the cabin unannounced. "We have a problem," he said.

"What is it?" Bobby asked.

Castiel looked straight at Dean and swallowed. It seemed he was always the bearer of bad news. "It's Lisa."

Dean stared back at Castiel, and Castiel knew he didn't have to clarify. Dean brushed past Castiel and was out the door without saying a word, and Castiel went after him without so much as an apology to Bobby.

They came back upon the scene, which had attracted a few curious onlookers. "Help me!" Lisa cried when she saw Dean. "Please, Dean!"

Dean looked from Lisa to Bea and Owen, who were still holding Lisa to the ground, and then he looked up at Castiel with an expression that Castiel wasn't able to read.

"Do you want me to take care of it?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean ignored him. He turned his gaze back towards the group on the ground, and he gestured at Bea and Owen with his head. "Get away from her," he said.

Bea and Owen glanced at each other and then at Castiel, who gave them a single nod. They stepped away from Lisa, who managed to push herself up to her knees just as Dean drew his gun.

The shot sounded louder than they usually did, and Castiel flinched. Lisa's body fell backwards, and he heard a few gasps as she hit the ground.

"What the _fuck_?"

Castiel found himself nearly tempted to pull his gun to shoot Malcolm himself.

"What the fuck was that?" Malcolm demanded, stepping out in front of Dean. "Cas says Lisa's a Croat and you just take his fucking word for it?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means I think you had an ulterior motive," Malcolm shot back. "Everybody here knows that you -"

"She was infected," Dean snapped. "I wasn't paying attention on the way back up here, but Cas was right."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I've been doing this a hell of a lot longer than you!" Dean said. "I know what to look for and what to listen for, and she was long gone."

Malcolm shook his head. "So you just give up on her? I thought you loved her." Castiel might have winced at hearing that, but he managed to keep his face straight.

"How long have you been with us, Malcolm?" Dean demanded. "How many cities have you gone to, backing us up? You know by now that when somebody's infected, it doesn't matter who they are. You take 'em out."

"What if we were able to help them, though?"

Dean let out a laugh. "What, you know something we don't?"

"I don't, but maybe a doctor would!" Malcolm turned around and looked back down at Lisa's body. "We keep saying 'infected,' and then we start calling 'em 'Croats,' like they're not even human anymore. But it's a disease."

Castiel heard whispering among the people watching them, and he didn't like the sound of it one bit.

"These people are just sick with a disease," Malcolm continued, stepping back close to Dean. "And we put 'em down like they're fucking animals. What if there's a cure?"

The two of them stared each other down, and the whispers grew louder. 

"There isn't," Dean said.

"How do you _know_?"

"Trust me. I know," Dean said. "This isn't an ordinary virus."

"There is no cure," Castiel added. "It was made to ensure that there was no cure."

"Oh, that's right. _Demons_ made it," Malcolm said sarcastically. "It's a _demonic_ virus. I still don't believe a word of that bullshit."

"Believe whatever you want," Dean said. "I'm done talking to you, so you should probably get out of my face now."

Malcolm seemed to consider the challenge for a moment, but he backed off. He looked down at Lisa's body one more time before storming away, leaving a flurry of whispering in his wake.

Castiel looked from the crowd to Malcolm's retreating back, and his eyes narrowed.

Malcolm was turning himself into a potentially large problem.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were already barreling towards the end at lightning speed, and they didn't need anyone to unknowingly force the end to come any faster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, **good guys doing bad things** , disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

"Are you Castiel?"

He glanced up from his book and saw a young woman he didn't recognize standing in front of him. "Yes," he replied. "And who are you?"

"Is it true that you're an angel?" she blurted.

Castiel didn't even let out a sigh. He was used to the question by now. "I was, once."

"Why aren't you still?"

"Because..." Because he made a mistake. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's a bit personal." She didn't respond, and he closed his book and sat up. "What's your name?"

"Angela."

He laughed. "Is that why you're curious about me?"

She offered him a small smile, and he slid over on the bench he sat on, tapping the seat next to his with his finger. She hesitated, then took the invitation, swinging her bag to the ground beside them. As she moved next to him, he caught the smell of something pleasant that reminded him of flowers. "Did you come here from Orlando?" he asked.

Angela stiffened. "Yeah. I'd been hiding in one of the city parks, pretty much living in the playground." She let out a bitter sounding laugh. "That would have been my dream house about fifteen years ago, but it was awful. I don't know what I would have done if Dean hadn't found me."

"How long had you been there?"

"I'm not sure." She shook her head. "Maybe two weeks? I lost my little brother, and I was about ready to give up. I didn't think anyone would come."

Castiel closed his eyes. "Dean lost his little brother, too."

"He did?" she asked. "He didn't say anything."

"He wouldn't." Castiel sighed. He supposed the two people in the camp that knew the most about Dean were Bobby, Chuck, and himself, and with Lisa gone, Dean remained a stranger to everyone else. "Who told you I was an angel?"

"Two really sweet girls named Lily and Caroline," Angela said. "They came and talked to me after... after Dean shot that woman. I was a little upset."

"I'm sorry you had to see that."

Angela wiped a hand across her eye. "They said you were good to talk to. I'm... I'm not sure if I believe you're an angel, but they said you were one of the nicest people in this place."

He laughed. "It doesn't matter if you believe it or not. We're all in the same boat now, anyway."

"Cas!" Owen jogged towards the two of them, and the solemn expression on his face made Castiel think he wouldn't like whatever Owen had to say. Owen slowed to a stop, and he looked back and forth between Angela and Castiel before leaning over to whisper in Castiel's ear. "Malcolm's leaving, and he's trying to get everyone to go with him."

"What?" Castiel narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling Malcolm would try something incredibly stupid, but he didn't think it would be so soon. While Castiel would gladly welcome Malcolm's departure, and would probably even gladly send him off with a bottle of champagne as a parting gift, the people in Chitaqua couldn't leave. Whether Malcolm believed it or not, Chitaqua was still the safest place for them to stay. They would be in almost immediate danger the moment they stepped foot outside the wards, especially if they weren't trained in combat.

More importantly, Dean needed the people who were trained to stay. The end was most definitely nigh, and no one in Chitaqua would stand a chance without able-bodied fighters at the front lines.

"I'm sorry, Angela," he said in a swift apology, climbing to his feet. "Something's come up. We'll continue this later?"

Angela started to nod, but stopped herself. "Oh!" she said, pulling her bag up onto her lap. "Before you go, Lily said you might like to have this." She pulled out a large, dark green bottle, and the foil wrapped around the top made Castiel at first think it was that bottle of champagne he'd been thinking about earlier. He glanced at the label and he smiled widely when he saw what it said.

"Absinthe!" he said appreciatively. "I haven't tried that yet." He pushed her hand and the bottle back down towards her bag. "Keep it with you, and you and I will share it tomorrow. Okay?"

Angela nodded, and Castiel smiled at her. There wasn't a question as to why Lily and Caroline had sent Angela to him, and he genuinely did look forward to spending some time with her.

He gestured for Owen to take the lead. They set off across the camp at a determined, quick pace, and Castiel ground his teeth together as his thoughts returned to Malcolm.

"Is he completely out of his mind?" Castiel hissed. Owen only shook his head in response, his frown just as deep as Castiel's.

By the time they reached Malcolm's campsite, his tent was already in pieces on the ground. Several people stood nearby to listen to him as he angrily stuffed the poles and stakes into a bag. Castiel was particularly displeased to see just how many were surrounding him - the number was upwards of twenty. "I don't see why the most ruthless person here wound up in charge," Malcolm said. "And I can't stay here to watch him execute another innocent person."

"You can't leave," Castiel said.

Malcolm turned on Castiel, and his nostrils flared. "What, are you going to stop me?"

"No." Castiel shook his head. "You're free to go as you please. I'm not going to stop you. It's just not safe outside the camp."

"Oh, right. The 'wards' you guys put up." Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Well, it's definitely not safe inside the camp if Dean is going to start killing people just because the so-called 'angel' says they're sick."

Castiel ignored his comment. "What are you intending to do?" he asked.

"I'm going to try and find a doctor. Somebody out there has to be working on a cure." He turned around and started rolling up his tent. "More importantly, I'm getting the hell out of here. And you all should, too," he added, looking up at the people watching him. Castiel wasn't surprised to note that quite a few the newer folks from Orlando were among the people gawking.

"Chitaqua _is_ the safest place in the country, if not the world," Castiel said. "Maybe you should stop and think about that for a bit, and stop encouraging others to make rash decisions that will probably get them killed."

Malcolm finished wrapping up his tent, and looked up at Castiel with a deep frown. "You've got a really high opinion of yourself, don't you?" he muttered.

"No, I really don't."

"But you think people are safer with _you_ than with anyone else?"

"They're not safer with _me_ ," Castiel insisted. "They're safer _here_. And they should think about that before running off on some wild goose chase with you." He wasn't sure how to reason with Malcolm. It was difficult to explain that a cure for a demonic virus didn't exist when the man didn't believe in demons to begin with.

Malcolm pursed his lips and seemed to considering staring Castiel down before he finally shook his head. "Fine." He looked over at the people who had been watching him. "He's right, kind of. You all should think about who you're going to wind up feeling safer with - a guy who's gonna kill someone at the word of a drunk who thinks he's an angel, or me, someone who's been to war before and knows how to take care of people." He shrugged on his backpack. "I'll be back in the morning, and whoever wants to get the hell out of this deathtrap is free to come with me." He glanced over at Castiel and sneered. "Anyone who wants to wind up dead can stay and get dead."

"Where are you going?" Castiel asked.

"Away from here," Malcolm snapped, and he turned on his heel and began heading towards the camp entrance.

Castiel looked from him to the people watching him leave, and he didn't like how many of them wore expressions of fear - or worse, contemplation. Many of them, especially the newer people that had just arrived earlier that day, surely doubted the existence of demons, and most of them would never believe that their true enemy wasn't the Croatoan virus but actually Lucifer himself. To their ears, Malcolm would sound like the more sane option, and Castiel had no way of proving him wrong.

However good his intentions were, Malcolm was threatening their already doomed future.

Castiel knew exactly how he would have handled Malcolm had he still been an angel. Malcolm would be locked up, kept away from others where he wouldn't be a threat. Unfortunately, Castiel only had the power and strength of one man, and spiriting Malcolm away from Chitaqua wasn't an option.

In a split-second decision, Castiel grabbed Owen's arm and pulled him away from the others. "I need you to follow him," he said quietly, his hand coming to rest on Owen's shoulder.

Owen blinked in surprise. "What?"

"He's leaving on foot and he said he'll be back early tomorrow, so he won't be going far," he said. "But I need to know exactly where he's going."

"Uh... okay," Owen said with a nod, and his hesitation quickly turned into confidence. "I can do that."

"Good." Castiel nodded back. "Now, he's experienced, but do not let him know that you're behind him. Whenever he's settled in somewhere, come back here and let me know where he is."

Owen's throat bobbed as he took a deep swallow, but he inclined his head one more time in acknowledgment before turning to peer in the direction Malcolm had gone. Castiel grabbed his arm once more before he took off.

"Be subtle," Castiel said, his voice firm, hoping Owen understood just how much he needed Owen to follow his instructions to the last letter. "Be careful about who sees you leave."

"Don't worry, Cas," Owen said, offering a smile that Castiel could only describe as clever. "I can handle this. I'm not gonna let you down." He set off in an apparent casual pace towards the woods, and Castiel watched until he reached the treeline before he took off at a sprint, disappearing under the cover of the forest.

* * *

"You still have that?"

Castiel froze. He'd been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Dean come in. "Of course I do," he replied, keeping his back turned, as if he was worried that Dean would be able to tell exactly what he was thinking just by looking at his face. "It was a gift." He slid the knife back into the sheath and forced down the memory of the day he'd received the knife.

Dean had given it to him, back when Dean could still give him a genuine laugh, and when both of them had far fewer things to worry about day in and day out. The knife was a painful reminder of a time when things had been happier, simpler. Castiel let out a deep breath and tried to ease the tension running between his shoulder blades away.

"I'm surprised you even still keep it sharpened," Dean said.

Castiel finally looked back over his shoulder. "Why are you surprised?" He wonder what Dean must have thought about him, if he thought Castiel didn't even take care of his weapons.

Dean shrugged and made non-committal sound, shrugging off his coat and turning to sit on one of the rickety wooden chairs. "I just haven't seen you use it in a while."

"I haven't needed it to use it in a while."

"And you need it now?"

Castiel nodded. He tried to concentrate, making sure his expression and words didn't give anything away. He'd never lied to Dean before. He supposed he'd told lies that he had assumed were the truth, and he'd left out pieces of information that he didn't think were necessary for Dean to know, but he had never flat-out lied to Dean. Dean knew him better than anyone else in the camp, but he didn't know if Dean was still able to read him as well as once could. "Something Malcolm said..."

Dean snorted. "Malcolm's an ass." He stretched and cracked his neck before glancing back at Castiel again.

Normally Castiel would have laughed, but tonight he could only force himself to give Dean a wry smile. "He is, but if I'm promising that people will be safe here, I should make sure they're actually safe." He tucked the knife into his jeans, using that as an excuse to not meet Dean's eyes. "I'm going to check all the wards tonight."

"Why do you need a knife to check the wards?"

Castiel steeled himself before finally lifting his gaze to Dean's, and all he could do was hope it was steady. "Several of the sigils have to be written in blood, Dean. I made sure they were well protected when we put them into place, but if any of them have become worn I'll need to reinforce them."

Dean considered him for a moment, frowning. "You're not gonna accidentally bleed yourself out or something, are you?"

"I know what I'm doing, Dean," Castiel replied with a sigh.

Dean sniffed. "Right."

Castiel headed towards the door, but a sudden whisper in the back of his mind made him pause and look back. Dean rarely showed any concern for Castiel's well-being anymore, and it wasn't like him to worry over something he knew Castiel was experienced in. "Are you all right, Dean?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Castiel shifted on his feet, unsure of how to breach the subject. "With... with Lisa..."

"I'm fine," Dean said. "Go do your thing." His tone of voice made it clear that he considered the matter closed, and he stripped off his shirt and started towards the back room, evidently turning in for the night.

Castiel watched Dean for a moment before he finally headed towards the door, only stopping when he heard Dean's voice again, so quiet that he barely heard it. "I loved her, Cas."

Letting his eyes fall shut, Castiel tried to swallow the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. He didn't dare respond, and he didn't dare turn around.

"I loved her," Dean said again. "But I wasn't _in_ love with her."

Castiel let out a shuddering breath. "I don't... I don't what to say to that, Dean," he said in complete and total honesty.

"I figured," Dean said, his voice even quieter. "I just thought you should know."

Castiel nodded, and he heard Dean leave, going into the back room again. Castiel dropped his head and placed his hand over his eyes, trying to ease the shaking that had suddenly overcome his body.

He knew the wise thing to do would be to stay with Dean and make sure he was okay, but he had something much larger to worry about. He forced himself to push his concern to the back of his mind, and he shoved his emotions down.

He finally let out a deep breath, and went out the door without another word.

* * *

He paced near the edge of the camp under the dim moonlight, keeping his eyes on the trees and watching for any sign of movement. Owen should have been back already, and Castiel needed all the time he could spare.

There was one advantage to waiting, though. The longer he had to mull over his plan and everything it meant, the more sure of it he became. The pros outweighed the cons, even if he knew that most people in the camp - Dean and Bobby included - would surely not approve of his course of action.

He couldn't expect them to understand. Humanity always tended to think in the here and now, and they rarely thought about how the failure of one person could bring deadly consequences to so many people. Castiel wasn't an angel any longer, but he still held a deeper understanding of the larger picture than anyone else in Chitaqua. He'd seen too many deaths come to pass due to one misguided decision, and he couldn't allow it to happen here.

They were already barreling towards the end at lightning speed, and they didn't need anyone to unknowingly force the end to come any faster.

"Castiel?"

He cursed under his breath, but didn't take his eyes off of the treeline. "Yes, Lily?"

"Have you seen Owen?" she asked. "He didn't show up for dinner, and I'm worried about him."

Castiel finally looked over his shoulder, and he could see her concern, clearly evident on her face. "He's fine," he replied. "He's doing a favor for me."

She let out a sigh of relief just as Caroline, Joe and Bea all walked up behind her. "Can I do anything to help?" she asked.

Castiel shook his head. He didn't want them to be any more involved than they already were. "Thank you, but no."

The four of them talked quietly for a moment, and he turned back to face the forest once more. As if on cue, Owen emerged from the trees. He spotted Castiel and the others and jogged over.

"He's settled," Owen said quietly. "He was just wandering around for a long time, but he finally seems to be down for the night."

"Good," Castiel said, nodding. "Where is he?"

"A little over a mile to the southeast."

"What's going on?" Joe asked.

"Nothing," Castiel said. "It's something I'll take care of myself."

"I know what you're planning," Owen said. "And you can't do this by yourself."

"I can, and I will."

"Maybe you can, but you shouldn't. It's too risky."

Castiel sighed. Owen clearly already knew more than he should, but it had been unpreventable. He supposed he could have followed Malcolm himself instead of sending Owen, but it would have created far too many questions, especially after the confrontation he'd already had with Malcolm. "I don't want you to be involved in this," he said quietly.

"You know how much we respect you, right?" Joe asked.

"I think it's safe to say we'd do pretty much anything to help you," Bea chimed in. "You've kept us all going in a world that royally sucks."

Castiel shook his head insistently. "This isn't something I want on your hands."

"Is it something that would protect Dean?" Caroline asked. "And the rest of Chitaqua?"

Castiel opened his mouth, but Owen cut in before he could answer her. "It is," Owen said. "Someone is threatening this camp, and everyone inside of it - including Dean."

"Then this is our responsibility, anyway," Joe said.

"We're talking about Malcolm, aren't we?" Bea asked.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, disappointed but unsurprised that she had figured it out so fast. "Yes."

"Then it's something we definitely need to take care of." Bea set her jaw, and Castiel recognized the expression she only wore when she refused to back down.

"Besides, I'm the only one who knows exactly where he is," Owen said. "Are you just going to wander around until you find him?"

Castiel studied the five of them, and the fierce determination in everyone's eyes not only mirrored but also possibly surpassed his own. "Fine," he finally said in agreement. "But you all need to remember that this is not a game." He caught each of their gazes, making sure they all knew exactly how serious the situation was.

"We know that," Caroline said. "We just want to help you like you've helped all of us."

Castiel nodded, and together, they quickly came up with a course of action.

As they moved into the forest with Owen in the lead, Castiel's mind raced at top speed. He was surprised to find himself somewhat relieved that they not only agreed with what he planned to do, but would also stand at his side without any question or doubt. At the same time, though, he couldn't stop his chest from tightening up as he mulled over what he wound up inadvertently asking them to do. He'd been around for longer than all five of them combined, and in his time he had carried out decisions and orders much more questionable than this one.

His hands had long been covered in blood, but tonight he would coat the hands of others that had always been clean.

* * *

Malcolm was still awake by the time they came upon him. That put them at an immediate disadvantage, but they had prepared for that, and they moved soundlessly through the brush, forming a semi-circle at his back. Malcolm had no fire lit, and he sat on a overturned log, staring sightlessly into the trees. He didn't seem to be paying the slightest amount of attention to his surroundings, which was a glimmer of luck that Castiel was very glad to see.

Castiel caught everyone's eyes, and he signaled Bea and Joe to get ready. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer - a habit he still found himself falling back on once in a while, even after his powers had been torn out of him. He took a deep breath, braced himself and crouched down, coiling up and preparing to spring.

They only had one shot to get this right.

He shot forward, moving through the trees with Bea and Joe close on his heels. Castiel collided with Malcolm, sending them both pitching forward toward the ground. He looped one arm tight around Malcolm's neck, and his free hand slammed down on Malcolm's mouth before Malcolm could make a sound. Joe and Bea each grabbed one of Malcolm's arm, and all four of them landed in a pile on the forest floor.

Malcolm was stronger than Castiel anticipated, and he managed to break Joe's hold on him with a well-placed kick to the shin. He reared back even while he was still pinned by Castiel's entire body weight, and just as he moved his free arm to send a fist flying towards Bea, Owen tore through the trees and planted his foot in Malcolm's gut.

It took all four of them to hold him, and he never stopped struggling. His eyes blazed at Castiel around the hand Castiel held over his mouth.

"I am sorry for this," Castiel said quietly. "Even though I know you won't believe that."

Malcolm tried to shout something, but it was too muffled and distorted by Castiel's palm for any of them to understand.

"You do have good intentions, but you're incredibly misguided," Castiel continued. "I can't, in good conscience, allow you to carry out something that would result in the death of anyone you convinced to go with you."

Castiel saw Lily and Caroline move into his line of vision, and when he looked over at them his knife was already out and ready in Caroline's hands.

"Now?" Caroline asked.

It seemed that Malcolm had seen the knife as well, and he screamed out from behind Castiel's palm. He suddenly jerked his head, and Castiel cried out as Malcolm's teeth landed firmly in the skin of his hand.

"You're all fucking insane!" Malcolm shouted when Castiel released his mouth. Even through the pain racing through his hand, Castiel knew that he needed to be silenced immediately. They were too close to Chitaqua, and the risk of someone hearing him was far too great.

"Now!" Castiel hissed at Caroline.

Caroline sprang foward, and Castiel winced as the knife slid into Malcolm's stomach. He hadn't thought to tell her what to aim for, and the gut wouldn't be enough. Malcolm screamed in pain and jerked violently, enough that Owen lost the grip he had on Malcolm's legs. Malcolm kicked out, and even with the wound to his stomach his strength was still enough to send Caroline flying backwards. The knife went with her, and it fell to the ground.

Lily moved with a swiftness and grace that surprised Castiel, and the knife was in her hands and sinking into Malcolm's chest before he could blink.

Malcolm's cried out again, quieter, with a painful sounding gurgle was laced underneath it, and his already weakening struggles ceased.

Castiel leaned forward and wrapped his hand around Lily's, which was still braced on the knife's handle. "We're not here to torture him," he said quietly. "Don't let him suffer." He guided her hand and the knife out of Malcolm's chest, placing it at Malcolm's neck. Lily nodded at him, and Castiel braced himself just as she did the same.

Her movement was just as quick as before, and the knife slid across Malcolm's throat, leaving a deep, violent gash in its path.

Malcolm's life bled out of him and to the ground beneath them at an alarming rate, but Castiel found himself grateful that he was fading so fast. When the last hint of light winked out of his eyes, Castiel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and he silently mourned for every last person gathered there on the forest floor.

Although Castiel could allow himself a small comfort by knowing that Malcolm was now at peace, and that his death had been unfortunately necessary, Castiel knew he had still turned five young men and women into murderers.

And together, they had taken the life of a man whose only crime had been doing what he thought was right.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now your hands are shaking, and I can practically hear you grinding your teeth together from here. I know you pretty fucking well, and I can tell when you're on something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, **good guys doing bad things** , disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

The following day Castiel didn't wake up until the middle of the afternoon, when Dean nudged him in the leg with his foot. "Up and at 'em," Dean said. "We need to get to Ohio, pronto."

"I thought all of Ohio was pretty much a wasteland," Castiel said as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, yawning. Ohio had been one of the first states that Croatoan was reported in, and it was now overrun with Croats from Cleveland down to Cincinnati. They usually avoided Ohio at all costs, sometimes going more than a day out of their way to reach the other side of the Great Lakes.

"It is, but Bobby got a distress call on the radio from just north of Columbus." The words knocked the rest of the exhaustion out of Castiel, and he blinked in surprise. Cell phones had entirely gone out nearly half a year earlier, and almost all forms of long distance communication had been shut down across the country. Receiving any sort of signal on the radio Bobby always kept up and running was unprecedented.

Dean strolled back to the table to study the map he'd already pulled out. "There's apparently a miniature resistance holding out in Gambier."

Castiel stretched and pulled himself out from underneath the sheets, shuffling over to peer over Dean's shoulder. "So not only did we get a distress signal from the middle of a hot zone, but in the middle of a hot zone that's been hot for over a year."

"Yes."

"Dean, this is screaming 'trap' to me."

"Yeah." Dean never took his eyes off of the map. "Me, too."

Castiel stared at Dean incredulously. "Then why on earth do you want to walk straight into it?"

"Because I want to know who's setting up this trap."

"You..." Castiel shook his head in disbelief. The plan was incredibly reckless, even for Dean. "You're risking everyone's necks because you're curious?"

"Cas, Croats don't think about finding a working radio, much less finding a signal that they'll get a response on, or contacting our camp specifically."

Castiel glanced down at the map in consideration. "You think it's demons."

"It's gotta be," Dean said. "The way I see it, we knock out two birds with one stone."

Castiel sighed and sat down across from Dean. "Let's hear it, then," he said, resigned.

"The demons haven't really made a move since Croatoan hit, and because we haven't known where they're hiding out we haven't had a chance to make a move against them." Dean's eyes flicked up towards Castiel. "What's Lucifer waiting for? Is he just sitting back and waiting for Croatoan to wipe us all out? Is that his style?"

It took Castiel a moment to realize Dean was asking him a legitimate question. "It's not. I'm honestly surprised we haven't heard more from him." He studied Dean's expression carefully, unsure whether he should be impressed or worried how Dean addressed the topic of Lucifer. Even though Lucifer had been the larger threat since before Croatoan, his name had rarely been mentioned since he'd taken Sam. "Lucifer thinks very highly of himself," Castiel continued. "He would want humanity to know that he is the one behind all of this... chaos."

Dean nodded. "That's what I figured. If we can get the demons to even give us a hint at what Lucifer's next step is after Croatoan, we might be able to get the jump on him."

Castiel doubted the possibility of getting any kind of 'jump' on Lucifer, but he didn't voice that concern out loud. "Okay, so that's one bird. What's the other?"

"Malcolm."

Castiel stiffened, and silently told himself that Dean couldn't possibly know anything.

"He's a perfect example of why we need to get some of these people in front of a demon," Dean said. "Risa's fine, since she comes from a family of hunters, and Willis is fine, but Charlie? Yager? They think Croatoan is just a pandemic. They don't even believe in demons, much less know how to deal with them."

"Oh, so this is a suicidal training exercise." Castiel nodded in agreement, but he couldn't help the sarcasm filtering into his voice.

Dean directed a hard look at Castiel. "It's not suicidal if we're careful."

Castiel shook his head. "So why are you telling me the plan of attack and not Bobby?" Dean didn't answer. "Probably because Bobby thinks this is just as reckless as I do?"

"Cas, I don't really care what either of you think," Dean said. "I'm going in. Are you gonna come or not?"

Castiel sighed. "How soon do you want to leave?"

* * *

Castiel tossed his bag into the back of the truck and leaned up against the door, frowning. He didn't like Dean's plan, or the reasoning behind it, but there didn't seem to be any kind of argument Castiel could use against it that Dean would actually listen to.

Dean rarely listened to anyone these days.

Castiel yawned widely, and he thumbed a few more pills out of the bottle Joe had given him. He'd already taken four Adderall earlier to offset the lack of sleep he'd gotten the previous night, but they didn't seem to be kicking in yet. If they were truly heading into Ohio he couldn't afford to be anything except his best, and the Adderall not only kept him awake but also helped him focus.

He cracked his neck after he swallowed the pills dry, tucking the bottle back into his jacket, and then heard a thump in the truck behind him as Dean tossed his bag in beside his. "Are we ready?" Castiel asked.

"Just waiting on Yager."

Castiel turned around to peer at Dean over the bed of the truck. "The sun's almost set," Castiel said. "We won't be getting there until around midnight. Are you sure you wouldn't rather leave in the morning?"

Dean didn't respond, and instead just yanked the door open and disappeared into the truck. Castiel sighed and climbed up beside him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye. "Are you okay, Dean?"

"Malcolm never came back this morning like he said he would."

Castiel had prepared himself for that observation, and he didn't even blink. "Maybe he changed his mind?"

"That's not like him. He's too stubborn." Dean shook his head. "I don't really like the guy, but I've gotta wonder if he's okay."

Castiel pretended to consider Dean's words for a moment. "It's possible the wards may have kept him out."

"How's that?" Dean's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "I thought the wards only worked on demons."

"No," Castiel said, shaking his head. "They also keep out people with ill intent. Malcolm didn't have a very high opinion of either of us, or anyone who decided to stay with us. It might have been enough to keep him from crossing the barrier."

Dean paused and glanced over towards Castiel. "So he could just be wandering around the woods, stuck outside the wards?" He let out a short laugh. "Oh, that's rich."

Castiel couldn't find it inside himself to laugh with Dean. "I suppose."

"You did have to reinforce some of the wards, then?" Dean asked, almost absently.

"What?" Castiel blinked at the sudden change of subject.

Dean nodded towards Castiel's hand, which Bea had bandaged for him the previous night. It was where Malcolm had bit him, and though the wound wasn't serious it was enough to potentially draw suspicion. Castiel tucked his hand into his pocket, uncomfortable with the scrutiny Dean was giving him. "Yes."

Sighing, Dean leaned forward and peered through the window. "Do you think someone should go look for him?"

"For Malcolm?" Castiel asked. "Is... is that necessary?"

Dean shrugged. "Might be." He finally spotted Yager making his way over towards the line of trucks. "I think you should."

Castiel stared at Dean. "Right now?"

"Yeah. You know the woods better than most of the people here."

"Dean, if you don't want me to go with you, just say so." Castiel couldn't help but feel midly annoyed. "You're the one who cooked up this insane plan in the first place."

"If it's really as suicidal as you say it is, then both of us shouldn't be going, right?"

"That crap again? Dean -"

"Cas, just get out and tell Yager to get in."

Castiel frowned. "You're serious."

Dean sighed again and shot a sideways glance towards Castiel. "No, I don't want you going."

"Why did you want me going before and not now?" Castiel demanded. "What changed your mind?"

"What are you on right now?"

Castiel's annoyance began to turn into anger. "I'm not _on_ anything. You know I won't before a mission -"

"You're lying. I saw you go over to Joe's tent earlier." Dean looked straight at Castiel, his eyes narrowed. "And now your hands are shaking, and I can practically hear you grinding your teeth together from here. I know you pretty fucking well, and I can tell when you're on something."

Dean was technically right, but Castiel was still infuriated. Dean didn't trust his judgment. "It's not anything that will affect how I do the job. Believe it or not, I'm not a fool."

"So then tell me what it is."

"It's just Adderall. I didn't get enough sleep, and I needed to wake back up -"

"Cas, get out."

A flurry of insults were on the tip of Castiel's tongue, but he forced them back down and slammed his way out of the truck, yanking his bag out of the bed and waving down Yager. "Take my seat," he said, before turning back towards his cabin. He ignored Risa calling out to him and burst through the door of the cabin. He dropped his bag to the floor and he found himself clenching his jaw to the point where it was nearly painful.

Dean didn't trust him.

Castiel grabbed the first thing he could reach and threw it as hard as he could. It turned out to be a flashlight, and it burst into pieces against the wall, but seeing it shatter offered him little satisfaction.

He heard a knock at the door, and he threw it open, ready to tear into whoever stood outside. " _What_?" he demanded.

Angela took a step back, and he was certain the look of fury on his face was what made her shrink away from him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's not you."

"I... I can come back," she said, turning. 

"No, wait." He reached out and placed his hand on her arm. He glanced over her shoulder and spotted Caroline, who peered back at him with concern. He tried to give Angela a warm, inviting smile. "You're too beautiful for me to be talking to you like that, and that wasn't like me. I just -"

"You and Dean were fighting again," Caroline said. Castiel sighed and released Angela's arm, sitting down on the tiny porch. "He doesn't deserve you," she continued.

Castiel laughed. "We don't own each other, Caroline."

"You and Dean are... together?" Angela asked.

"No." Castiel shook his head. "It's not like that. It's incredibly... convoluted." Castiel waved his hand, wishing he could find a better word to describe the relationship between Dean and himself, but also unsure if he even wanted to explain it to anyone. It had always been between the two of them and no one else, and Castiel wanted it to stay that way.

The expression on Caroline's face nearly resembled a pout. "He still shouldn't treat you like -"

"Caroline, drop it," Castiel said. "Please."

The silence that followed could only be described as awkward and heavy.

Angela seemed to be the only one willing to break it. "I... um, brought that absinthe over. We figured since you weren't going to Ohio with the others..."

"Wonderful!" Castiel grinned. Getting nice and drunk and numb did sound incredibly appealing to him. "I have some glasses inside." He stood and turned back into the cabin, but he froze as soon he stepped over the threshold.

The cabin had always been dark and somewhat drab, but today it felt absolutely wretched. Maps and articles papered the walls, and everything inside reminded him of Dean.

Castiel didn't want to be there any longer.

"I have a better idea," he finally said. "How about the two of you help me move out of here?"

* * *

The caravan rolled back into camp the following afternoon. Castiel counted heads as the trucks began unloading, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand upright when he couldn't spot the one face he looked for.

Castiel grabbed Risa by the arm as she swept past. "Where's Dean?"

Risa nodded her head towards the camp entrance. "He's just outside the wards. He wants us to get all the people who've never seen a demon before and meet him out there."

Castiel released her, blinked, and looked over towards Yager. "Dean brought a demon _here_?" he asked. Either Dean had something incredible up his sleeve, or he had just lost his mind.

Yager nodded, obviously shaken. "Gotta admit, I thought you guys were full of shit before." He let out a breath. "But her freaking eyes turned black."

"Her?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, it's apparently some demon Dean's met before," Risa answered. "He called her 'Meg.'"

* * *

The shed was nearly falling down and was far too tiny, and the amount of people packed inside made it seem even smaller. Even with the torn up ceiling, the devil's trap spray painted on the rafters was unbroken.

Castiel crossed his arms and lingered near the back of the shed. The body Meg currently occupied had been pretty, once, but her dark hair was matted down with blood and was stuck to her face, and her teeth were an ugly shade of reddish brown.

"Are turning me into a zoo attraction, Dean?" Meg asked, eyeballing the people surrounding her. "How much are you charging for tickets?"

Dean answered her by throwing holy water in her face. Meg cried out, curling in on herself, and faint wisps of smoke curled up from her body. Dean circled around, grabbing her roughly by the hair, jerking her head upright. "Note the black eyes," he said. Castiel heard a gasp or two. "Some demons don't have black eyes," Dean said, ignoring the murmur that ran through the tiny crowd. "Some of them have white eyes, or red... yellow. And most of the time, they look normal."

"Are you... fucking serious?" Meg asked, gasping. "You think you're some college professor or something?"

Dean yanked her head back even further and hovered over her with a murderous expression. "Keep your mouth shut, bitch."

Castiel frowned.

"Sometimes you can make them show themselves," Dean continued. "If you say ' _Cristo_ ,' some of 'em will flinch." He smirked when Meg did just that. "Guess they don't like hearing about that Jesus guy."

He released his hold on Meg's hair and strolled back towards a tiny table in the corner of the room that Castiel hadn't noticed. Dean grabbed a canister of salt and turned back towards Meg, but Castiel couldn't tear his eyes away from the table. The tools on top of it were laid out in a neat, orderly fashion, and they all looked remarkably similar to instruments he had gathered for Dean in a different time, with a different demon bound in another room.

Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

"Salt keeps most of them out," Dean said. "An' it hurts pretty much all of them." He popped the lid off of the salt and grabbed Meg by the neck, tilting her head back. She let out a gurgling scream as he forced it down her throat, and Castiel had to look away. He knew all of the things Dean were showing them were standard methods for dealing with demons, but there wasn't a need to be so rough with them.

Castiel closed his eyes. The instructions pouring out of Dean's mouth faded into the background, right along with the quiet comments and occasional questions from the crowd. The only thing Castiel could hear clear as a bell was Meg's screams, which Castiel wished he could block out more than anything else. They were painfully familiar.

Finally, Dean's voice rang in Castiel's ears again. "Lesson's over." Castiel forced his eyes open and noticed a few people filing out of the shed, and he glanced over towards Meg, still bound and choking in the middle. Dean stood in front of her, deadly still.

"Shouldn't you... show them an exorcism, as well?" Castiel asked quietly. "Or maybe what the knife does?"

Dean shook his head, his eyes never leaving Meg. "I'm not done with her yet."

Castiel followed Dean's gaze to the demon's already nearly broken body. "Does she... does she know something?"

"I'm not _done_ with her," Dean repeated, his voice barely above a hiss.

"Dean -"

"Get out."

It was the second time in two days Dean had demanded that of Castiel, and this time Castiel didn't put up any argument. He shoved past the few remaining people in the shed and nearly sprinted back to the camp.

* * *

Castiel inhaled, held his breath, and finally let the smoke tumble out of his lungs and mouth when he couldn't hold it in any longer. He lounged back and rested his head against the cabin wall. He let his thoughts wander over everything, anything, except for Dean, and what Dean was more than capable of doing.

He had been the one that pulled Dean away from inflicting pain onto others, and then later forced it back onto him. Even without anyone there asking him to do it, Dean could still find that hellish ability somewhere inside of him. Perhaps Dean couldn't ever truly escape it.

Castiel shook his head and shoved the image of Dean standing over Meg out of his mind, and found it surprisingly simple to do. It was far easier to avoid things he didn't care to think about than it used to be.

He'd grown used to living outside of his head, and found it much more pleasant than the inside was. He only went back in when he absolutely needed to.

His new porch was much nicer than his old one. It was larger, and it even had a tiny bench he could relax on. He kept his eyes closed, letting the smoke and sounds of the camp and forest penetrate and soothe him.

"You really shouldn't be doing that out here."

Castiel flicked the ashes to the ground, not bothering to look up. "Just enjoying the last of summer," he replied. "You know how much I hate winter."

"The camp already thinks you're a functioning alcoholic, Cas," Dean said. "We don't need them thinking you're an addict, too."

"You keep calling me that," Castiel said. "But I'm not actually addicted to anything." And it was true - he never strictly needed anything specific, never felt like he would die without taking something, and he would be fine if he went without smoking, swallowing, or snorting anything. After that first experience with the hydrocodone, Castiel made sure he would never become too dependent on any one thing. He switched from one to the other each day, never taking too much and never taking anything for longer than a few days. Withdrawal wasn't something Castiel wanted to deal with again, so he simply made sure he wouldn't have to.

He heard Dean scoff. "Whatever. Did you find Malcolm?"

"No."

"Did you even look for him?"

"No."

He heard Dean move past him, and felt the wooden bench sink a little as Dean sat down next to him. "So what'd you do instead?" Dean asked. "Hot box in Joe's tent? Parachute some meth?"

Castiel laughed and shook his head. Of course those would be Dean's first assumptions, and usually, Dean would be right. "I moved out."

"You... " Dean paused. "That's why you're over here?" he asked quietly.

Castiel didn't bother to answer, and simply took another hit off of his joint. It wasn't becoming of Dean to ask such obvious questions.

"This... this is Lisa's old cabin."

"It was open." Castiel winced at his own words, and finally opened his eyes. "I'm sorry - that was cruel. I didn't mean it like that."

Dean shrugged. "It's true," he replied.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting the last sounds of summer wash over them.

"Why'd you move out?" Dean finally asked.

Castiel rubbed his fingers across his temples. "Dean... we're not... I don't even know what we are anymore." He wasn't even sure what they had been to begin with, but he knew it had to be better than simply being each other's security blankets.

"We're..." Dean shifted and leaned forward, and seemed to contemplate Castiel's words before he finally sighed. "Yeah. I don't know, either."

"Exactly." Castiel glanced over at Dean out of the corner of his eyes, and the sight made every inch of him freeze.

Blood covered Dean's hands and dripped from his fingers down onto the porch.

"G'night, Cas." Dean stood up and Castiel blinked, and Dean's hands were suddenly clean, absent of the glistening, wet blood.

Dean swept past him and down the porch steps, and Castiel kept staring at the porch where he'd seen the blood fall, but not a trace of it remained.

* * *

Only a few nights passed before Castiel spotted blood on Dean's hands a second time, and it was the same as the first. He only saw it for a split-second, out of the corner of his eyes, and when he looked a second time the blood was gone.

But the sight was quickly shoved from his mind when he wondered why Dean was standing at the foot of his bed in the first place and how he'd managed to wake up, followed by the realization that he was currently sandwiched in between Angela and Caroline.

Castiel quickly pulled himself from the girls' arms, stumbling after Dean as he headed out the door. "Wait," Castiel said.

Dean paused, but didn't turn around. "So that's how you roll now, huh?"

"I..." Castiel couldn't answer. He felt guilty, and he had no idea why. Dean finally looked over his shoulder, and Castiel saw a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah," Castiel finally whispered. "That's... how I roll."

Dean's movement was swift, and he grabbed Castiel, pulling them together, and they shared their first kiss in nearly a year. It wasn't soft, nor was it exactly harsh, but it was still achingly familiar and Castiel found himself melting against Dean's lips. He wanted to reach out and pull Dean closer but he feared it would somehow make Dean disappear on him, so he just him kissed back, savoring every moment.

Dean finally stepped back, but his fingers lingered on Castiel's cheek. He smiled. It was a real smile, not a smirk, though it seemed more sad than anything else. He dropped his hand and finally turned, descending the steps and disappearing into the night.

Castiel nearly collapsed onto the bench, burying his head in his hands.

The kiss almost felt like a goodbye.

* * *

Castiel spotted Dean's blood covered hands four more times before he decided he'd had enough.

He took a deep breath when he walked into his old cabin. He hadn't been inside since he moved out of it, and nearly everything still looked the same. It still felt like their cabin instead of Dean's cabin, and he still hated it.

He spotted a bottle of whiskey on the counter, still generously full, and helped himself. He sat down at the table and watched the sun dip down below the skyline through the window, and he waited.

He didn't know how long the sun had been gone, but the bottle was over half empty by the time Dean finally shoved his cabin door open. Castiel leaned forward in his chair and his eyes raked over Dean's form from top to bottom before he finally zeroed in on what he was looking for. "Your hands are red."

Dean froze, obviously not having seen Castiel sitting in the dark, but he regained his balance, gave a soft snort and threw the door closed behind him. "And you're drunk. Or tripping."

Castiel laughed, shaking his head. "No, I'm not. I haven't taken any hallucinogens." Castiel let his gaze trail away from Dean's hands and back up. "You know I can see things others can't."

Dean rolled his eyes and yanked the chair opposite of Castiel away from the table. "So what is this, an intervention?" He reached over and grabbed his whiskey out of Castiel's hands before leaning back in the creaking chair and taking a deep swallow straight from the bottle. "I really don't feel like putting up with your medicine man bullshit, Cas."

"You look familiar."

Dean made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Well, you've known me for what - four, five years, right? I should fucking hope -"

"You look like what I found in Hell."

The grip on the bottle tightened and Dean's eyes hardened, and Castiel hated that saying it out loud made Dean resemble that broken, half-demonic creature even more. Dean took another healthy swallow from the bottle before plunking it down in the middle of the table, nodding to Castiel in invitation. "Do you remember when you dragged me out?"

Castiel stared into the bottle, watching the dark amber liquid slosh back and forth. The moment he found Dean in the pit was one of his few angelic memories that he could still picture with startling clarity. "You fought me."

"Do you know why?"

He glanced up to see Dean's eyes locked on him with an intensity that was nearly frightening. "No."

"I'm pretty sure that I deserved to be there."

That was the answer Castiel had been expecting, and the reason why he'd never asked the question in the first place. "Dean, you know you didn't -"

"Do you know why I deserved it?"

"You _didn't_ -"

Dean cut him off a second time. "Because when I was there, when I was ripping souls to pieces and practically fucking getting off on it, that's when..." He paused, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the rickety wooden table, and his eyes met Castiel's in a quiet challenge. "That's the first time I ever had the chance to lay down my burdens."

The hairs on the back of Castiel's neck stood up.

"For the first time - for the first time time since I was four, Cas - when I was off the rack and tearing people to shreds, the only person depending on me was _me_." A smile - the first smile Castiel had seen on Dean in a very long time - appeared on Dean's lips. "No Dad, no Sam, no people needing saved. I only needed to look out for myself."

Castiel found he couldn't argue with Dean's words. He hated them and knew he could challenge them if he just thought about it long enough, but he couldn't find the right weapon to use against Dean's.

The smile on Dean's face dissolved, and he snatched the whiskey off the table again. "Cas, while I was in Hell, I felt fucking free." He tipped the bottle to his lips, and Castiel wanted to smack it out of his hands.

"And _that's_ the reason you have for this? That's your... excuse?" Castiel found his voice shaking, and he couldn't find exactly what he wanted to say. "You're ruthlessly torturing demons not because you think it's the only way to get the information you want, but because you're... what, _homesick_ for Hell?" He finally reached across the table and grabbed the bottle away from Dean's hands, and whiskey splashed down onto Dean's shirt. "Are you just trying for the biggest shock value you can go for in order to make me leave?" He nearly fell backwards into the chair and took a long gulp off of the bottle, savoring the subtle burn trickling down his throat. He lowered the bottle and blinked down at it. "Fuck you, Dean."

"Fuck _you_ , Cas," Dean hissed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Sorry that I'm not actually up on that pedestal you've put me on. And how the fuck are you... out of everyone here, _you're_ the one here trying to give me shit. I'm not much different from what you've turned into. You just go about it differently."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm not even sure what that's supposed to mean."

Dean laughed, or whatever resembled laughing from him recently. "Do you get off on it?"

"Do I get off on _what_?"

"Having power over people." Dean's voice dropped to a dangerous level. "Making them _listen_ to you in a way I never did." 

Castiel grip on the bottle tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't even try that, Cas. I'm not stupid. You've got them hanging off of your every word, believing everything you say, to the point that they'll actually _kill_ for you."

Castiel's blood ran cold at Dean's words.

Dean knew.

"It took me a while to put all the pieces together," Dean continued. "I noticed that all of your little buddies were gone the night Malcolm disappeared, too. At first I just figured they were probably panting around at your heels like they usually are."

"Dean -"

"Then you slipped up and started talking about Malcolm in the past tense - like the guy was already dead. For a guy that had been missing for less than twenty-four hours, you sure were quick to write him off." Dean shrugged. "I know you didn't like him, though, so I just kind of blamed that on wishful thinking on your part."

Castiel's gaze dropped down to the bottle in his hands.

"But then I asked Bobby about the wards, and he said the only way they could fail was if the sigils were broken in a specific order. You two are the only ones who know how those wards are put together, and you two are the only ones who know how to break them."

Castiel's throat went dry.

"You didn't bother to look for Malcolm because you knew he was already dead. You and your little friends snuck out that night and ganked him," Dean said. "And yeah, Malcolm was an ass, but he was still a good man." He paused. "And you murdered him. So tell me, which one of us is worse?"

Castiel closed his eyes and tried to search for the right words. "At least..." He swallowed. "At least I show mercy," he said quietly. "Unlike you."

He heard Dean's chair creak as he shifted in his seat. "Cas, you're practically a fucking cult leader."

Castiel shook his head. "That label doesn't really apply -"

"Those people worship the ground you walk on, and you do nothing but lie to them." The disgust that dripped from Dean's voice made Castiel wince, but Dean continued. "I don't even know if you did it on purpose or not, but you've fucking brainwashed them, get them to do whatever you want."

"It's not what _I_ want." Castiel had known Dean wouldn't understand, but he knew he had to try, and he finally, reluctantly, met Dean's eyes. "I have them do what's necessary."

Dean seemed to study him for a moment. "You really believe that," he said, his tone quiet. "You think you're actually doing the right thing."

"You know we wouldn't stand a chance if Malcolm had taken off with half the camp, and you know that anyone who decided to go with him wouldn't have lasted a month outside. You need people here to back you up or else none of us would stand a chance of surviving." He slid the bottle across the table back towards Dean. "You know I'm right."

Dean didn't even glance down at the whiskey. "You didn't consider talking to those people? Convince them that 'your word is the word of God,' like you did with your little group?"

"Not everyone will listen to me, Dean. You certainly didn't, not at first." Castiel let out a half laugh at the memory. "You still don't. Those most like you - the ones with the strongest wills - are the ones that would never listen to me."

"So you're... what? Taking the weakest, most impressionable people in the camp and molding them into something that has some use?"

"I suppose that's one way of putting it."

Dean's mouth set itself into a hard line, and something appeared in his eyes that Castiel couldn't read. "What happened to you?"

Castiel sighed. "Nothing's _happened_ to me, Dean."

Dean considered Castiel for a moment, then leaned forward and tipped the whiskey to his lips again. "I guess not," he finally said. "You still think like an angel."

Castiel couldn't do anything but snort. "I only wish that were true."

* * *

"You've gone completely off the deep end, Dean!"

It had been weeks since Castiel and Dean confronted each other about their own respective sins, and Castiel hadn't spoken a word of their conversation to anyone. Since no one treated Castiel any differently from the way they usually did, he could only assume Dean hadn't said anything, either.

However, that didn't prevent someone else from noticing Dean's extracurricular activities. Castiel wasn't the only observant person in Chitaqua, after all.

Castiel didn't initially intend to spy on what had obviously been meant as a private conversation, but Bobby had asked that he stop by before the day's end, and he could hear Bobby's shouting from the next cabin over. He couldn't remember Bobby ever sounding that angry, especially when that anger was directed towards Dean.

He moved closer to Bobby's cabin and hovered underneath one of the windows, feeling every bit like the sneak he was acting like, and every word he heard passed between Bobby and Dean made him feel cold.

"I barely recognize you, kid. You're not the same."

"Obviously." Dean's voice was quiet and dangerous, which had become the norm for him in recent days.

"What's happened to you?" Bobby asked. "You're heading out at all hours of the night, never telling anyone... if something happened, we'd never..." He paused. "You never run anything past me anymore."

"What, so you're feeling left out?" Dean asked, and Castiel winced at his words.

"That ain't the problem, an' you know it!" Bobby was shouting again.

"So what is the problem, then, Bobby?"

"I can't tell what you're thinking anymore," Bobby answered. "All I can tell is that you're well on your way to leading us all to our fuckin' dooms."

"How's that?"

"I... hell, Dean, just look at what you've done to Cas."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. Dean hadn't strictly done anything to him aside from hurt him emotionally, but that shouldn't have been any of Bobby's concern.

"I haven't done anything to Cas."

"You saw him tipping over the edge and didn't lift a finger to stop it."

Frowning, Castiel inched closer to the window. Dean couldn't have said anything, especially not to Bobby, but Castiel found himself worrying about what 'edge' Bobby was referring to.

"An' now he's more drug-addled than Tennessee Williams."

Castiel felt close to storming inside the cabin, demanding to know why Bobby thought he had the right to involve himself in what Castiel did in private, but Dean's response stopped him.

"Bobby, Cas does more more good than anyone else at this camp, no matter what drugs he's doing."

Castiel blinked.

"He's looking out for everyone, and he actually manages to make a lot of people here smile. You know that's important these days."

Either Dean had apparently changed his mind about Castiel, or he felt the need to rationalize Castiel's actions to Bobby merely out of habit. Castiel didn't want to decide which it was, but he appreciated Dean's words either way.

He heard Bobby sigh. "Cas isn't the issue here, anyway."

"Oh, right. _I'm_ the issue." Castiel heard footsteps crossing the cabin towards the window he was lingering under, and he pressed himself closer to the cabin's outer wall. "What exactly is the problem, Bobby?"

"The problem is that I'm starting to think that Malcolm was right."

Castiel felt as if the ground yawned open underneath his feet. Bobby couldn't possibly be serious.

"I heard what happened when you guys went to Ohio, and again when you were in Bloomington last week. You practically turned Willis into a sacrificial lamb on that one. We're lucky we didn't lose anyone."

Castiel had no idea what Bobby was referring to, and it took a moment for Dean to answer. "Sometimes sacrifice is necessary, Bobby."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Dean?"

Castiel finally had a inkling of what they were speaking of, and he couldn't say he was surprised. Right from the beginning, he'd always been aware that Dean would eventually have to knowingly make decisions that could result in someone not making it through a mission. It was the nature of a war like the one they were in. Castiel had just hoped Dean wouldn't have had to make those calls so soon.

Dean finally raised his voice for the first time in the entire conversation. "Are you listening to what's coming out of _your_ mouth? This is literally the end of freaking days here, Bobby. If I'm busy worrying about how every single one of us is gonna make it through, _none_ of us are gonna make it!"

"Dean..." Bobby paused. "Get the hell out of here." Castiel heard something shift, like something was being dragged across a table.

Dean sighed. "What are you doing, Bobby?"

"I'm leaving. I'm not gonna stay here and watch you march everyone off to their deaths."

Castiel was still reeling from Bobby's words, and he didn't catch whatever Dean said in response. He never knew Bobby as well as Dean had, but he had always come across as a realistic man. Castiel couldn't tell if Bobby was truly unable to understand the position Dean was in, or if he simply couldn't deal with Dean having to be the one to make questionable, unavoidable decisions.

They were at the end of the world, fighting against Death and the Devil while backed into a corner. Someone had to make those calls, no matter what the cost, and Dean was the only one capable of making them.

Bobby had to accept that.

As Castiel heard Dean slam the cabin's door open the pit that started forming in Castiel's stomach earlier grew wider, and he wondered if he was being faced with his own unavoidable decision.

Just like Dean, Castiel was the only one capable of making a call he never wanted to make.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a duty to keep morale up, fearless leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, **good guys doing bad things** , disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

Bobby may have been convinced that Dean and Castiel were seen as the two guiding forces of Chitaqua, but Castiel knew that Bobby was seen as the wise elder. That had always been simultaneously irritating and amusing to Castiel - after all, he did have several thousand years on Bobby - but he was also aware that Bobby deserved the respect that the others gave him. He usually made informed decisions, and he kept a level head even when circumstances seemed insurmountable.

Unfortunately, Bobby apparently couldn't stomach what Dean had been forced to become.

Castiel hated what Dean had turned into as well, but he had no choice but to accept it.

He steeled himself, and finally approached the truck that Yager was loading boxes into. Bobby was giving directions to Willis and Charlie to put a few boxes back into his cabin.

"Not those," Bobby said. "You guys can use those books more than I can."

Castiel watched them quietly for a few minutes before finally addressing Bobby. "I heard you're leaving."

"You heard right." 

Castiel gestured to Willis to hand him the box he was carrying over from the cabin, and he shoved it onto the bed of the truck. "I'm sorry I didn't stop by yesterday," he said. "I got caught up with something, and it slipped my mind."

Bobby shrugged. "Don't matter now, anyway."

"Where are you going to go?"

Bobby took off his ever-present cap and ran his fingers through thinning hair. "Yager here is driving me home. I figure it's only right for me to end my hunting days where they started."

Castiel glanced up at Yager, who was strapping a bungee cord around a few loose bags of clothes. "You're coming back, right, Yager?" Castiel asked, ensuring that he sounded casual and not cautious.

Yager grinned at him. "Of course. I'm not done fighting those fuckers." Castiel nodded back at him, satisfied.

Charlie was just about to pack another box into the truck when Bobby stopped him. "Give that one here." Bobby set the box down in his lap and rifled through it before pulling out a rolled up piece of paper and passing it over to Castiel. "Don't need this, either. You can have it if you want it."

Castiel unrolled it and looked over it. It had been screenprinted by hand with red and black ink, and he let out a laugh. "'Are you a survivor?'" he read. "Where did this come from?"

"Risa found it in some college town you guys went to and thought it was appropriate," Bobby said. "I think it's about the zombie apocalypse or some nonsense."

"And naturally, the only way to fight the zombie apocalypse is to 'pick up your gun and fight,'" Castiel said, rolling the poster back up with a grin. "She won't mind you giving it to me?"

"Nah. She just grabbed it for a laugh." Bobby continued digging through the box. "There's a few rugs, some sweatshirts, other crap I won't be needing back in my cabin. You guys can fight over whatever's left. Ah, here it is." He pulled out a camera and flipped it over in his hands.

"Christ, Bobby, how old is that thing?" Yager asked.

"It looks like it's from the '40's!" Charlie added.

"Shut yer mouths. I ain't that old," Bobby said. "And all of you should go... well, pick up your guns. I want something to remember you assholes by."

"By our guns?" Willis asked, laughing.

"It's how I see you all the most, so I may as well make it accurate, right? So go get yer damn guns and meet us out by the entrance." Bobby looked up at Castiel. "You, too, feather-brain."

Castiel nodded and retreated to his cabin, trading the poster for his shotgun. He paused on his porch and sighed as he glanced across the camp, where Yager was already pushing Bobby's chair towards the wooden entrance sign. If Bobby wanted this one last thing, the least Castiel could do was make sure his wish was complete.

He considered it for a moment before crossing the path towards Dean's cabin. He knocked once, then barged in without waiting for a response.

Dean was in a familiar position, hovering over a map spread out across the table. "What is it?"

"Bobby would like a picture of us with our guns," Castiel said, amused at how absurd it sounded.

"Bobby can go fuck himself."

Castiel frowned. "Bobby's leaving."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know."

"You're probably never gonna see him again," Castiel said, crossing the cabin and picking up Dean's rifle. "You could at least act like an adult and send him off with a smile instead of behaving like a spoiled brat." He held Dean's rifle out, and Dean just glared at it. "You have a duty to keep morale up, fearless leader."

"Isn't that _your_ job?"

"Dean."

Sneering, Dean grabbed his rifle out of Castiel's hands and stalked towards the door. "I swear this place is a fucking circus." Castiel simply smiled and steered the fuming Dean towards the camp entrance.

Bobby gave Castiel a look of momentary surprise when he saw both of them headed in his direction, but he just shrugged and went back to setting up his camera. Charlie and Willis joined them soon enough, and Bobby lined the two of them up next to Castiel, while Yager knelt on the ground by Bobby's side. Castiel stared at Dean expectantly as the camera began making a winding sound, and he pointed to the empty spot in front of him.

"I don't have time for this," Dean muttered, but he just shook his head as he took his place on Bobby's other side.

Bobby snorted. "Glad you spared us a moment out of your busy schedule for this, Dean." Castiel frowned when he saw Dean's shoulders grow tense just as the winding sound seemed to grow louder.

"Fuck this." Dean pushed himself off the ground and brushed past the camera, immediately heading back towards the camp. Castiel sighed and tried not to let his gaze follow Dean, but he couldn't help it. Castiel had only wanted to give Bobby one last wish, but he couldn't possibly explain exactly why Dean should have thought that was important.

The camera flashed, and Castiel finally directed his thoughts towards larger concerns.

He glanced down at Bobby's shoulders, sent him a silent apology, and swore that he would get the mercy he deserved.

* * *

Castiel timed everything as best he could. He couldn't leave immediately, and he knew he had to wait at least until Yager returned from dropping Bobby off. He sat tight and ignored his own impatience, and his first opportunity didn't come until everything started to freeze and he could see his breath in the air. Dean took most of the regulars out on a long-term mission, and he didn't waste a moment before approaching Chuck to ask what supplies they were low on.

"Um, toilet paper," Chuck replied before he even glanced at his clipboard. "Like always. And we're down to two tubes of toothpaste, and we could always use more canned stuff." He tapped his pen against his clipboard before his eyes widened and he suddenly stuck his pen in Castiel's face. "And _pens_! This is my last one! I'm screwed if I start chewing on it like I always do."

Castiel leaned away from Chuck's waving pen, moderately worried that Chuck would stick it straight into his eye. "Whoa," he said, holding a hand up to defend himself against Chitaqua's lone writing utensil. "I'm sure I can find you pens."

"You can? Great!" Chuck breathed a sigh of relief before his customary nervousness took over him again. "Um... do you mind if I ask why you're suddenly going on a supply run? You never have before." He wrinkled his nose as a snowflake drifted down between the two of them. "And you're kinda notorious for wanting to be a hermit in the winter."

Castiel shrugged, though he did wonder why Chuck was prying. "Dean only takes me on every other mission these days, and I think I'm starting to get... cabin fever, so to speak," he said. "I just need to get out of here for a day or two for a reset."

"I guess I can understand that. Well, actually, no - I can't understand that. I haven't left since we first got here."

"And I'm still not used to staying in one place for very long," Castiel said.

"No, I guess you wouldn't be," Chuck replied quietly. He studied Castiel for a moment, then shook his head. "I'll make you a list, but if you could just fill up an entire truck with all the toilet paper you can find it would make my freaking life."

* * *

"Cas?" Bobby didn't seem to be able to contain his shock when Castiel appeared on his stoop. "What're you doing here?" He backed his chair away from the door, allowing Castiel to step inside, out of the cold wind. "Dean's not..."

"Dean is fine." Castiel reassured Bobby as he shoved the door shut behind him. "I just came to see how you were doing."

"I'm... well, I'm a little surprised," Bobby admitted. "I expected to be sitting here alone for the rest of armageddon."

Castiel offered Bobby a smile. "I couldn't let you do that."

Bobby laughed. "Stupid feather-brain can't let an old man die in peace," he said, and Castiel hid a smile at his words as Bobby turned towards the living room. "I found some Jim Beam when I got back. I think I've got enough to share. Lock the door, would ya?"

"Of course." Castiel didn't even glance down at the latch before following Bobby.

The fireplace they settled down near didn't appear to have been used in at least a decade, and Bobby offered Castiel a shot of holy water before the liquor. "'Scuse me for being suspicious of you visiting me out of the blue. I'm not even sure if a demon is able to possess an... well, someone like you," Bobby said, "but you can't be too careful."

"I'm actually not sure about that, either," Castiel replied truthfully, and he swallowed the holy water without complaint, though he mulled over Bobby's words as he did. Castiel hadn't given Bobby anything to be truly suspicious of, and the man's caution worried him. If it turned out that Castiel truly did need to carry out his mission, Bobby had to let his guard down.

"So... how is everyone?" Bobby asked as he traded Castiel's holy water for a small glass of neat bourbon.

Castiel shrugged. "As well as can be expected. Willis broke his middle finger right after you left and he amused himself by constantly flicking everyone off. Risa started kicking everyone's asses in poker, and Charlie thinks she's been hustling everyone all this time."

"Yager still raiding comic book stores?"

He allowed himself to laugh, and Castiel nodded. "Yeah. He says he won't rest until he finds the fourth issue of the Avengers."

"Something about Captain America and suspended animation," Bobby replied. "I remember. The kid never shut up about it."

They spent time catching up, though Castiel did most of the talking since Bobby didn't have much to update him on aside from finding mice in his kitchen upon his return home. Castiel covered nearly everyone that had still been there when Bobby left, updating him on who died and how they lost them, along with who was still left. He told Bobby a bit about the couple of new survivors that somehow managed to find their way over to them all the way from Sacramento, and finally realized they only had one person left to speak of.

Castiel needed Bobby to be the one to bring him up. It was the only way Castiel would be able to tell if he was right.

"And Dean?" Bobby asked quietly. "How's he doing?"

Castiel sighed, partially out of relief. "Dean is... the same." He let out a quiet laugh. "I believe Risa has developed a 'thing' for him." And Dean hadn't exactly been ignoring her advances, but Castiel knew that her feelings weren't returned.

Bobby's expression appeared more reserved than anything else. He took a deep swallow of his bourbon and stared down into the glass. "I can't believe I managed to lose both boys before I kicked the bucket," he said, and he almost appeared as if he was speaking to himself. "Dean's still... there, but he's not, ya know?"

Castiel nodded, but hesitated before responding. Perhaps he could steer Bobby in the right direction without being blunt. "He's hanging on, though, Bobby."

Bobby raised his eyes to meet Castiel's. "It's hard for you, isn't it?"

"It is." Castiel wanted nothing more than to look away, nearly afraid that Bobby could see exactly what was running through his mind, but he couldn't. He had to be be absolutely certain that there wasn't any other option, and that Bobby was truly beyond hope. "It's especially hard because I'm the only one there for him now."

Bobby sighed. "And I couldn't be there for him anymore." He swallowed, and Castiel could see his grip on his glass tightening. "I couldn't," he repeated, and he unknowingly gave the very answer Castiel didn't want to hear.

Even so, it turned out to be the answer Castiel had been expecting. "I know," Castiel whispered, and he allowed his eyes to close as he said a silent prayer in his mind. He took a breath and stood up, setting his glass down on the mantle. "I need to use the bathroom," he said quietly. Bobby nodded and took another sip of his liquor, apparently completely lost in thought. Castiel glanced down at him, and knew he had to act immediately.

He swept past Bobby and let his foot land heavily on the bottom step of the stairs, then froze and peered back into the living room.

Castiel had no choice. The fate he could offer Bobby was far better than the future Bobby doomed himself to.

He turned on the balls of his feet, completely silent, and drew his handgun out from the back of his jeans. His eyes never left the back of Bobby's head as he flipped the safety off and moved closer with more stealth than he even knew he was capable of.

Bobby seemed to remain oblivious, and Castiel allowed himself another step closer. He wanted it to be instant, and he couldn't afford to even be an inch off target. Bobby didn't deserve to suffer.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Bobby's movement was sudden, startling, and Castiel instantly realized he had drastically underestimated him. Something long and narrow came flying towards Castiel, smacking the gun out of his hands and sending it hurtling across the room. He hissed in pain, and he didn't recover in nearly enough time as Bobby spun his wheelchair around and slammed his weapon straight down onto Castiel's foot. Castiel felt something snap, and he crumbled to the floor.

" _Fuck_!" Castiel shouted, nearly screaming the word. He hadn't felt anything remotely similar to the sharp pain in his foot, which seemed to grow worse with each passing moment. Tears sprung to his eyes, and he decided it was far worse than the pain he'd felt when his powers had been torn from him. In fact, the only thing that had been more excruciating was the torture Heaven had inflicted on him, years ago.

"You've gotten good since you went human, boy, but you still ain't that good," Bobby said.

Castiel barely heard the words through the rushing in his ears, and he could only groan in response. It felt as if sharp teeth had bitten down hard over his foot, tearing and ripping at him and refusing to stop.

"So you ain't possessed, and Croats don't usually go this far out of their way just for one old man." Bobby rolled his chair across the room to retrieve Castiel's handgun. Castiel winced and desperately tried to regain control over his body.

"So what are ya?" Bobby asked as he used the same tool he'd used to break Castiel's foot to lift the gun out of the corner of the room. Castiel squinted at it through a haze, and he realized it was the metal stoker for the fireplace.

Bobby was nothing if not resourceful.

Castiel took a few deep breaths, trying to ignore the pain, and he somehow dragged himself over to the wall, as far away from Bobby as he could get. "I'm the only one... who seems to know _anything_ ," he hissed through clenched teeth. He never intended on explaining himself to Bobby - the man should have died before he even realized what was happening. Castiel knew his words didn't make sense, but he could barely concentrate. He didn't understand why it hurt to even speak when it was his foot that was broken.

Bobby removed the clip from the handgun and started methodically pulling the bullets out one by one. "And what do you know?"

Biting his bottom lip, Castiel pulled himself up to lean against the wall, groaning at the amount of effort it took. "This is the end of the fucking world."

Bobby let out a sharp bark of laughter. "And you're the _only_ one who knows that, huh?"

"I'm the only one who seems to acknowledge it!" Castiel snapped. "I'm the only one who truly knows what Lucifer is capable of. Croatoan is just the beginning."

"Okay, so you know Satan better than the rest of us," Bobby said, tossing a handful of bullets over his shoulder. "So what is this, then? You're... doing his dirty work?"

"Don't insult me," Castiel said. "I'd never work with my brother."

"So then why come after me?"

Castiel couldn't help it. He laughed. Explaining himself would be futile. No matter what he said, Bobby would never understand. "So, so many reasons."

"Try me."

Castiel gasped as another wave of pain raced through him. "Dean's the only who has the slightest chance of prolonging our survival," he said. "And you - one of the last people alive that he trusted implicitly - set out to tear him down."

Bobby stared at him, nearly expressionless. "You honestly expect me to believe that you're just looking out -"

"I'm not _finished_ ," Castiel hissed, irritated at the interruption.

Bobby offered him a placating nod and leaned back in his chair. "Do continue."

Castiel grew even more aggravated as he realized Bobby was mocking him. He'd been trying to grant Bobby absolution, more peace than he knew the man had ever dreamed of receiving, and Castiel was being mocked in return. "You kept saying that Dean and I were the pillars of the camp, but you never seemed to acknowledge just how many people looked up to you," he said. "Almost every day since you've left, people talk about how much they miss you and how much they'd like to come see you."

"And that's apparently not allowed?"

"It was the same with Malcolm," Castiel said, nearly spitting the words out. "The more people that want to follow you, the less chance anyone has of surviving for any significant amount of time."

Bobby shook his head. "You're really not convincing me that I deserve to die."

Castiel laughed again. "That's just it, Bobby. You _don't_ deserve to die. But you will die, anyway." He let his head fall back, and it thumped up against the wall. "Out here, by yourself? The Croats would eventually find you, or even worse, Lucifer would find you." He shook his head. "I can give you a much more peaceful death than Lucifer ever would." He steeled himself, and he looked up at Bobby in determination. "I came here to show you mercy."

"What makes you think you have the right to give me that so-called 'mercy?'" Bobby asked.

"Because it's my responsibility. I'm the only one who can."

Bobby seemed to consider Castiel's reasoning for a moment before he nodded. "In other words, you're even more cracked than Dean is."

Castiel had known Bobby wouldn't understand, and he sighed. It didn't matter anymore.

He winced as his foot throbbed at him again, and he glanced over Bobby's shoulder. "I'm not as cracked as you think, Bobby," he said, his gaze trailing back to meet Bobby's eyes. "If I was, I would have come here alone."

Bobby's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "What?"

Castiel ducked down to the floor just as three bullets blasted through Bobby's chest. Bobby's eyes grew wide before he slumped forward, and he fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

"Cas!" Lily shoved Bobby's empty wheelchair and it toppled to the side, and she raced to kneel down by Castiel. "He hurt you," she whispered.

"Give that here," Castiel snapped, tearing the gun out of her hands. "We're here to save him from suffering, not to inflict it." He ground his teeth against the pain, propped himself up on his elbow, and took aim. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bullet flying into Bobby's skull.

The hat, followed by bits of bone and blood scattered into the air before the blood began pooling out onto the floor, and Castiel breathed a sigh of relief before he narrowed his eyes.

"The heart isn't instantaneous, and the lungs just make you drown in your own blood," he said, his voice stern as he looked from Lily, to Joe, and finally over to Owen. "The head is the fastest. Remember that." He shoved Lily's gun back towards her, and she nodded before taking it from his hands.

Lily gently set and wrapped Castiel's broken foot as he drank down the remainder of Bobby's bourbon to help numb the pain, and Joe and Owen buried Bobby out on his property. Castiel watched them through the window, thinking up an excuse for his injury while they waited for Caroline and Bea to return from the nearest town with the truck. He somewhat absently wondered if they'd been able to get everything on Chuck's list, but toilet paper and pens were the furthest thing from Castiel's mind.

Bobby had wanted to end his hunting days where they started, and Castiel had at least been able to grant that wish.

* * *

Owen and Joe each loaned Castiel a shoulder, and it took an excruciating amount of time to hop from the truck and up the stairs of his cabin, one slow step at a time. The girls followed them, as if they were afraid the boys would drop Castiel and shatter him even further.

"Whoa, what happened?" Chuck asked when he spotted the miniature parade heading into Castiel's cabin, instantly distracted from checking up on the supplies they'd brought back.

Castiel hissed as he finally made it up the last step onto his porch. "Hit some icy stairs, and landed on my foot," he said. "I knew there was a reason I fucking hated winter."

"Holy crap," Chuck said, peering at the make-shift splint that Lily had made. "Is it just sprained, or is it broken?"

"It's definitely broken," Castiel said through clenched teeth. "And I'd just like to get inside and go to sleep. Please."

They shuffled Castiel inside his cabin, and he sighed in relief as he finally collapsed in his bed. Caroline propped his foot up on a few pillows just as Angela burst through the door.

"Oh, God! What happened?" she asked, squeezing her way between the others and crawling up onto the bed beside Castiel. Her fingers slid into his hair, and her eyes radiated concern.

Castiel offered her a weak smile. "I just had a bad fall." He drew her closer and placed his lips on her forehead. "Don't worry." He breathed in her scent, loving that she somehow still smelled like flowers even after spending months in Chitaqua. "I'm afraid I need to get some sleep now, though. I'm sorry."

Angela nodded and leaned in to give him a kiss, and then finally allowed Joe to lead her out of the cabin. The others started to follow, but Castiel reached out and grasped Caroline by the wrist. He waited until the door fell shut behind Joe and Angela, and he pulled Caroline in close.

"Not a _word_ to her," he hissed in Caroline's ear. "Understood?"

Angela wasn't ready yet, and he couldn't afford one of others slipping up while they were around her.

Caroline nodded, and Castiel placed a gentle kiss on her cheek in a silent apology for being so harsh with her. They waved their goodbyes, and he finally allowed his eyes to drift shut.

He'd had a couple of very long days.

* * *

A loud bang tore him out of consciousness, and Castiel opened his eyes to see Dean slamming the door shut behind him. Castiel moaned and squeezed his eyes shut again, pressing his palms into his eyelids. "What do you _want_ , Dean?"

Dean didn't answer, and Castiel heard him nearly stomping across the cabin to the foot of Castiel's bed. A spike of pain suddenly radiated from his foot and up his leg, and Castiel cried out as Dean lifted his foot by the splint in a sick impression of a doctor's inspection. Dean frowned at it, lifted it higher, and Castiel let out a gasp as Dean finally dropped his foot back to the pile of pillows.

"Seriously?" Dean demanded. Castiel hadn't heard Dean this angry since his argument with Bobby.

"Seriously _what_?" Castiel hissed.

"You get bored, decide to go joyriding for some supplies we didn't need, and you wind up putting yourself completely out of commission?" Dean said, sneering. "Just how much speed were you on when you made that awesome plan?"

Castiel wished for nothing more than the ability to sit up and throw his fist into Dean's eye. "Right," he shot back. "I did this on purpose, just to put you out."

"Goddamn it, Cas." Dean rolled his eyes. "Even if that's a clean break, you're still off duty for at least a month, probably longer." He leaned forward and rested his hands on the mattress, one on either side of Castiel's foot, and Castiel ground his teeth together as the motion jostled his leg around again. "And you better hope that's a clean break," Dean continued. "I don't know of any functioning x-ray machines, do you?"

"Fuck off."

Dean snorted. "Nice." He pushed himself up, bumping into Castiel's foot once more, and Castiel was absolutely sure Dean was doing it on purpose. "So... this makes you a preacher, an addict, a cult leader, and now a permanent gimp." He shook his head. "Quite a resume you've built, Cas."

Castiel let his head fall backwards onto his pillow, sighing in frustration. "What is with you and your fucking labels?"

"They all apply, don't they?"

" _None_ of them apply," Castiel said. He hated how cornered Dean made him feel sometimes, and being immobile made it even worse. He didn't even have the option of storming off.

"How about 'narcissist,' then?"

Castiel raised his head again to glare at Dean. "Did you really just come here to criticize me?" He tried to sit up, attempting to bring himself just a little closer to eye level with Dean. "Does our fearless leader have enough _time_ to do that?" Castiel knew he should be watching his words, going out of his way to lead Dean in the opposite direction of any possible reminder of Bobby, but he couldn't help it. Even with how much Bobby had brought on himself, Dean had still single-handedly driven Bobby away in the first place with the exact same behavior.

Dean laughed and stuffed his hand into his pocket. "I actually came in here because Chuck asked me to give you these Vicodin." He drew a familiar looking orange plastic bottle from his jacket and shook it up and down a few times, rattling the tiny pills inside. He grinned at Castiel. "Like music to your ears, isn't it, Cas?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "How pathetic do you think I am?"

"Pretty damn pathetic," Dean replied, twisting the cap off the bottle. He peered inside the bottle for a moment before flinging it across the room, scattering the pills all across Castiel's cabin. The sound reminded Castiel of rain as the pills fell to the floor, and the empty bottle bounced off the wall and landed on the bed beside him.

"What the hell was that for?" Castiel demanded.

"That should keep you out of trouble for a while," Dean said, turning towards the door. "Since you're such a fucking _addict_ , you'll actually track every single one of those suckers down." He flung the door open and threw one more smirk at Castiel. "Even if you can't walk."

The door slammed shut behind Dean, and Castiel pounded the mattress with his fist in frustration, willing himself to calm down.

The only thing worse than the way Dean spoke to him was the fact that Castiel knew perfectly well that Dean was right.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings** : 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, **good guys doing bad things** , disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That _might_ cover all the bases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look down at me and you see a fool.

_Look down at me and you see a fool. Look up at me and you see a God. Look straight at me and you see yourself._

 

Angela rocked from foot to foot, dancing to a rhythm that Castiel couldn't hear. Even so, Castiel swayed back and forth in cadence with her, and he smiled as he caught her eyes. "How are you doing, beautiful?" he asked.

Angela giggled and she suddenly pitched forward, sighing happily as she landed in Castiel's arms. "Incredible," she said as Castiel pulled her closer and ran his hands across her skin. She rubbed up against him in response, and her lips brushed the lobe of his ear. "It's incredible," she whispered. "I feel like I'm a part of you."

"You are a part of me," he murmured back, and he traced the arch of her neck with the tip of his nose. "Body and mind, you are a part of me." He gathered her up and lifted her off the ground, strolling over to his bed. Caroline waited for them with open arms, and Angela nearly purred as she greeted them both with a kiss.

Castiel hummed in appreciation as Caroline finally drew back from his lips. "Don't tell anyone, but you two are my favorites," he said.

Angela buried her face into Caroline's hip, suddenly bashful, but Caroline just laughed. "They already know," she said, biting her lip in amusement as she moved around behind him, rubbing her hands into his shoulders and his back. Her thumbs dug in just beneath his shoulder blades.

Castiel moaned in relief as she worked out the kinks and knots. "You're too fucking good at this," he whispered. He'd taken a few Vicodin earlier to try and offset the pain. He always told everyone that the pain came from sleeping on his partially broken bed, but in reality it felt much deeper than that, running straight into his core. He seemed to feel the absence of his wings more each and every day.

His door slammed open and both women jumped at the sound but Castiel merely repressed a groan, knowing exactly who had interrupted them. Only one person in Chitaqua had the balls to barge into his cabin unannounced.

"Put on some pants, Cas," Dean said, directing a level look towards the group on Castiel's bed. "You an' me are gonna take a walk." Castiel sat up and glanced down at Angela in alarm. He didn't want to leave her while she was tripping out of her mind.

Dean shook his head, apparently sensing Castiel's apprehension. "And I don't give a crap about your foot still hurting. If you can bang, you can walk."

Castiel sighed, but finally nodded. He couldn't afford to argue with Dean in front of Caroline and Angela. After all, Dean was their savior, and much of what he'd taught them hinged on that. However small the lie was, he couldn't risk undoing the months of work he'd put into grooming Angela, at the least.

"I'll be outside." Dean left the door open behind him.

Castiel shook his head and gave both women a kiss. "You two go on without me," he said before sliding down the bed, placing another kiss on Angela's stomach, just above her belly button. "And take care of this one while I'm gone, Caroline."

"I will."

He leaned forward and nuzzled Caroline's neck. "Make sure she doesn't go anywhere," he whispered in her ear, and Caroline nodded in agreement. He took his time getting dressed much to Caroline and Angela's amusement, almost putting on a strip tease in reverse, though Dean didn't say anything by the time Castiel met him outside.

"C'mon." Dean turned and made a beeline for the woods, and Castiel followed in silence.

Castiel glanced up and peered into the night sky as they walked. Since the city light began to die it seemed the stars had multiplied over their heads, and the endless sky made Castiel feel tiny and insignificant. He didn't like that feeling in the least, so he steered his thoughts away from the heavens and back to Dean's request. Castiel had to admit that he was less annoyed and more curious at exactly what Dean wanted him for, especially with how late it was.

They soon lost much of the moonlight under the cover of the trees, and Dean finally shot a sideways glance towards Castiel.

"What is it?" Castiel asked. "Why are we out here, Dean?"

"Where did you bury Malcolm?"

Castiel's feet dragged to a stop. "What?" It seemed to be a strange question to ask months after Malcolm died.

"Malcolm. Where is he?" Dean repeated. "Or did you salt and burn him, like proper?"

Castiel shook his head. "That would have attracted more attention than I wanted, Dean."

Dean nodded. "That's what I figured. So where'd you stash him?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes and studied Dean, gauging him. He knew he couldn't read Dean as well as he used to be able to, but he still knew Dean better than anyone else. Dean's questions confused him, though, especially since they didn't even seem slightly accusatory. "Why do you want to know?" he finally asked.

Dean didn't respond at first and instead tucked a hand into his pocket, his gaze dropping down to the forest floor. He shifted his weight, and Castiel wished he could still hear the whispers of Dean's thoughts. When Dean finally answered his words were hushed, teasing Castiel's curiosity even more.

"I've got someone that me and you are gonna bury."

* * *

When they reached Malcolm's final resting place, Castiel raised an eyebrow when Dean pulled a trowel out of his jacket. "Won't you need a bigger shovel?" he asked. Since Dean first asked him where Malcolm's unmarked grave was, an underlying part of Castiel kept wondering if Dean had somehow found out about Bobby, but he knew Dean wouldn't be nearly as evasive if he was out for revenge.

Dean shook his head. "Not for the person we're burying."

Castiel again wondered why Dean was being so enigmatic and whether or not he was doing it intentionally, but he just nodded his head at the tree in front of him. "Malcolm is here," he said. "Would you care to tell me exactly what this is about?"

Dean again didn't answer and Castiel began to grow irritated at Dean's cryptic behavior, but he pushed it down when Dean dropped to one knee and began digging into the ground. Castiel kept his silence while Dean scooped out a tiny hole in the earth, his eyes following Dean's every movement.

The trowel finally landed on the ground beside the miniature grave Dean created, and Dean settled back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, who could only wonder who would possibly fit in a grave that small. Dean stuffed his hand into his pocket again and pulled something out, holding it up in front of them.

It flashed in the faint moonlight as it spun slowly, dangling from the worn leather cord. "Your amulet," Castiel whispered. He hadn't seen it since the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder on Bobby's porch, much like they stood now.

Dean passed the amulet into his other hand and rolled it between his fingers. "Figured we could both use a little bit of closure," he said. Castiel said nothing, but when Dean finally turned his gaze towards him, he nodded. Dean again dropped to his knee, his hold on the amulet tightening once more before he finally opened his fist and dropped his necklace into the small, makeshift grave.

Castiel remained quiet while Dean pushed the dirt on top, and he swallowed when the tiny bull head winked out of view. Dean patted the earth down, and Castiel took in a deep, shuddering breath. "Should I... should I say something?" he said quietly.

Dean sniffed, his hand still resting on ground. "Neither of us need your bullshit prayers," he said, and despite his words his voice wasn't mocking. "I just... I guess we both had family that we never really had a chance to say goodbye to."

Castiel closed his eyes. He hated being reminded of his Father, along with his family. They'd abandoned him, and he'd been left helpless among beings just as useless as he had become, dropped into the middle of a life that already seemed longer than the millennia he'd lived before.

It was utterly unlike Dean to be so sentimental, and even more unlike him to willingly drudge up memories of Sam. Although Castiel realized Dean was right in saying that they both could use closure, he could also tell that Dean wasn't telling him something. A symbolic burial couldn't be the only reason Dean had wanted him out here. "I understand why you're doing this," he said. "But... why _now_?"

Dean cleared his throat, and Castiel watched him as he stood back up again. Dean turned and leaned on the tree that served as a headstone, and he raised his head in a familiar, particular manner, in the way that told Castiel Dean was about to say something Castiel wouldn't like. "I've got a lead on the Colt."

Castiel sighed, chagrined, though not because he knew Dean had gotten that information by ruthlessly prying it from a demon in the most violent, inhuman way possible. "Dean, you've had nine leads on the Colt since the beginning of the year." Most of the clues they'd received from various demons had led to dead ends, and those that hadn't only proved that the demons were consistently two steps ahead of them. "Do you still really think you're going to be able to find it with this new lead?"

Dean's gaze was steady as he looked back at Castiel. "This one didn't tell me where the Colt is," he said. "But it did tell me something about the Colt itself."

"And what's that?"

"The Colt can't kill Lucifer."

Castiel blinked. "Do you... do you believe that?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno. I'd rather not believe it, but I've gotta question it."

"So you need a back-up plan, then," Castiel said.

"I don't think I'll have time for a back-up plan, Cas," Dean said, snorting. "You really think I'm gonna get more than one shot at killing the devil?"

Dean's words implied something Castiel didn't like in the least, and he frowned. "So you still have every intention of facing off against Lucifer with a gun that may or may not kill him?" he asked.

"I don't have anything else, do I?"

"You're fucking insane."

Dean laughed, the corner of his mouth turning upward into a twisted smile. "Everyone here is a little bit insane, Cas," he said.

Castiel could do nothing but concede that point, but he didn't voice his agreement.

"The two of us, though?" Dean continued. "We're the most dangerous."

Castiel's breath caught. He couldn't say he agreed with that, but something about those words passing Dean's lips made his heart ache. Perhaps it was only because of the sentimentality of the amulet or the odd sense nostalgia it brought, but for a moment Dean almost sounded like the old Dean. As much as Castiel appreciated Dean's lack of interference in his activities, he knew the old Dean wouldn't have ever allowed them to continue, nor would the old Dean ever willingly put the skills he learned in Hell to use.

"We're fucking monsters," Dean said, and the disgust in his voice made Castiel think he hadn't heard Dean sound so much like his old self in years. Then Dean continued, and the whisper of self-loathing and repulsion was suddenly absent. "But the rest wouldn't make it without us, would they?"

"No." Castiel swallowed, and his words were tight and quiet. "They wouldn't."

"That's why I need _you_ to be the back-up," Dean said. "If we're not around, and Lucifer or the demons get their claws on all these people..."

"It's worse than death," Castiel replied. It was the exact reason why Bobby was buried in the ground, just like Malcolm was beneath their feet.

"So if it turns out that demon was right, you're all that's left."

Castiel nodded his head in understanding. "If you're gone, I won't have any choice," he said. "I will take care of them, Dean."

* * *

Castiel had to admit that Caroline knew how to vet every new person that came to Chitaqua, and she was definitely skilled at it. She and Angela had found the two new girls among the recent arrivals, and had wasted no time in bringing them both to Castiel.

Angela was nearly curled up next to him, and he gave her hand a comforting squeeze. He looked past Angela and smiled at Caroline, who watched over Angela like an overprotective hawk. He wished he could tell them both right then exactly how pleased with them he was, but he directed his attention back to the new faces, folding his fingers back together in his lap.

"Caroline and Angela here have experienced this many times already," he said to the other two. "And I think they can both vouch that even if it's a little... _frightening_ at first, that fear just slips away before you know it."

"I've taken it before," one of the new girls said. The second girl nodded.

Castiel smiled, pleased, knowing that would make the first step that much easier. "Good. That will help. This isn't an ordinary trip, though," he said. "We fall into sync together, and we'll find out that we all have the same inner pulse, hearts beating as one being." He saw Angela and Caroline share a knowing smile out of the corner of his eye, and the other two seemed to hang onto his every word. "We start to evolve from one body to one mind, so... in this way, we're each a fragment of total perception - just one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind."

He met the eyes of the two newer girls, knowing that the most important part was what they were the most hesitant about. Caroline and Angela needed no convincing to slip into bed with him, and he made his voice as placating as possible. "Now, the key to this total, shared perception is... it's surprisingly physical." His thoughts were interrupted when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he glanced over to see Dean standing in the doorway. He tried to offer Dean a smile for the benefit of the girls, but he repressed a sigh as he turned his gaze back towards them.

"Excuse me, ladies," he said, covering his annoyance at the interruption with a smile. "I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute." He glanced up at Dean and winked at him despite himself, and he plowed on, choosing his words more for Dean's irritation than for the girls' benefit. "Why not go get washed up for the orgy?"

Caroline started to giggle as they stood up to leave but stopped herself, and Castiel was moderately relieved to see the two new girls smile. He'd have to ask Caroline to remind him of their names later. "You're all so beautiful," he said as they filed out the door, and he stood up to crack his stiff spine, making a mental note to also ask Caroline for one of her back rubs later.

"What are you, a hippie?" Dean asked.

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me," he said. He sighed and turned around, wondering exactly what it was that Dean wanted.

"Cas, we gotta talk," Dean said, raising a hand as he spoke, and Castiel's eyes widened at the sight.

"Whoa, strange," he murmured, staring. Dean's hands looked different.

They weren't covered with blood. And his hands weren't only clean, spotless, but they appeared less worn, with far fewer scars covering the skin.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You... are not you." Castiel continued studying him, and he realized it wasn't just Dean's hands that looked different - his entire body appeared like it had been shoved into a place it shouldn't have been shoved. He was out of sync with this place, or perhaps this time. Castiel had a feeling it was the latter, especially when he lifted his gaze to meet Dean's eyes, and even though they didn't look like the eyes of the Dean of today, they still looked incredibly, achingly familiar. "Not _now_ you, anyway."

"No! Yes," Dean said, stammering as he corrected himself, and Castiel finally noticed that even his voice sounded different. The hardened authority was conspicuously absent. "Exactly!" Dean continued.

Castiel could scarcely believe it, but he knew how many things could pull people out of time and place them elsewhere. After all, he used to be one of them. "What year are you from?"

"2009."

Castiel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as he mulled over that specific year. It was before he had fallen in more ways than one - before the angels left, and before he had discovered just how much he loved Dean. His heart ached at that, and at the fact that this Dean - this untarnished, stainless Dean - was trapped in this horrible world as it teetered on the brink of the end. "Who did this to you?" Castiel asked. He thought about which angels were still actively pursuing Dean in 2009, and decided he was fairly sure he knew the answer. "Was it Zachariah?"

"Yes," Dean said.

"Interesting," Castiel replied quietly. As much as he mourned the old Dean being brought to his time, Castiel couldn't help but wonder if that meant Zachariah was hiding somewhere in the year 2014 as well, and if any other angels had joined him. Since Lucifer being on earth had somehow kept a lesser power sustained in Castiel, he was curious if having other angels on earth would affect him in any way.

"Yeah, it's friggin' fascinating," Dean said. "Now - why don't you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?"

Castiel could do nothing but laugh at that, and he turned away, not entirely wanting to look at this painfully familiar Dean. Of course the Dean of 2009 would assume that he still had all of his power, and that he, of all creatures, would be exactly the same as he had been in 2009. "I wish I could just... strap on my wings," he said. "But I'm sorry - no dice."

He didn't even have wings anymore.

Dean stared at him. "What are you, stoned?" he asked.

Castiel finally forced his laughter down, and turned back towards Dean once more. "Generally, yeah."

Dean's eyebrows lifted and he appeared to take in this new, strange version of Castiel, and Castiel decided it wasn't that he didn't want to look at the old Dean, but that he didn't want Dean to look at him. "What happened to you?" Dean asked.

Dean - his Dean - once asked him the same question, and he didn't have an answer then. Nothing had changed, but now Castiel had an endless list of answers to the same question, none of them pleasant. He didn't want to give any of those answers - not to this Dean, anyway - so he just shook his head. "Life."

* * *

Castiel slipped into Dean's cabin just before midnight, somehow angry, worried and curious all at once. He hated Dean's plan from the moment they learned the Colt might not work, and he hated it even more knowing that he wanted to put into action in the most negligent way possible.

The fact that Dean wanted to bring his past self along was just the icing on the cake. The old Dean didn't deserve to see what the world had turned into. It was too dark, and he was too bright.

"Why are you bringing him?" Castiel asked.

"He'll be fine," Dean said, inspecting the Colt once more, as if he wanted to make sure it truly was the real thing. "Zach's somewhere around, and he'll make sure he won't get ganked."

"That's not what I asked."

Dean paused and finally tucked the Colt into his jacket. "He needs to see this whole freakin' world if he's gonna change a damn thing about it," he said, packing a few more weapons and pair of binoculars into his bag. "He needs to see the Croats, and he needs to see Lucifer. He needs to see Lucifer inside Sam."

Understanding blossomed inside Castiel. "You want him to say 'yes.'" Castiel didn't want that, not in the least. Saying 'yes' meant quitting. It meant giving up everything that made Dean who he was. It meant Castiel would never have a ghost of a chance to be with Dean, in any time or any form.

"Fuck yeah, I do," Dean said. "But he won't." He paused, finally lifting his eyes to meet Castiel's. "I'd show him what you are, too, just for good measure - but I don't think that would solve anything." He snorted. "Hell, he might even try to kill you when he gets back if he knew what you've actually been up to lately."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You don't try to kill me."

"No, I don't," Dean said. "You're... necessary."

The word made Castiel laugh. "That's good to know."

"And you're all I've got left."

Castiel swallowed. "What?"

"I mean..." Dean paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "I don't really have you anymore, because I barely freaking _know_ you now, but..." He stopped again, abruptly dropped his bag onto the table and took three long strides to close the distance between Castiel and himself. "I'm sorry I let you turn into this," he said quietly.

"I didn't... turn into anything, Dean."

"I know," Dean said. "I guess you just weren't meant to be..."

"I wasn't meant to be what?"

Dean answered him by curling his hands in Castiel's jacket and pulling them together, and Dean's lips crushed up against his. The kiss immediately turned harsh, consuming, and Castiel took from Dean as much as Dean pulled from him. If their last kiss had been a 'goodbye' to their relationship, then this kiss was simply 'goodbye,' and they both allowed themselves to be selfish. Castiel never wanted it to stop, halfway wishing the end of the world would happen right at that moment, and when Dean finally drew back Castiel felt a sting at the corner of his eye. He ignored it.

"This is the end, you know," Dean whispered, resting his forehead against Castiel's. "We won't win."

Castiel let out a shuddering sigh. "I know."

* * *

For a very long time - longer than he had even been mortal - Castiel thought he would feel regret when the end finally arrived. However, a sense of relief was beginning to settle in on him, and he knew that it was close to being over. He was finally almost done, and he would soon be able to rest.

He was so tired.

The caravan would be leaving any minute, and the others still hadn't arrived. He waited behind his cabin, leaning up against it with a deep frown, and he grew more impatient with each passing moment.

"Where have you been?" he hissed when he finally spotted Bea and Owen come around the corner. The others were on their heels, and Joe walked straight up to him to pass a tiny prescription bottle into his hands.

"It's my fault," Joe said. "They were lost in my tent, and I couldn't find them."

Castiel tucked the Adderall into his pocket and took a breath to calm himself. He'd waited this long, and a short delay meant nothing in the end. "It's okay. I'm sorry," he said. "They're just finishing packing the trucks."

"What's different about this one?" Bea asked. "Why did you want all of us here?"

Castiel reached into jacket and pulled out a set of keys. He passed them over to Bea, and she took them with a questioning look on her face. "This is it," he said.

He heard Caroline let out a satisfied hiss. "What you've been telling us about?" she asked.

"Yes. That means I need you to follow us, but not too closely." He passed a map over to Owen. "If you fall too far behind, this is where we're going. You'll find us in the circled area, but don't approach us until I give you the signal." He received six nods in agreement. "It's a hot zone, so don't let yourselves get caught in any trouble going in." He met each pair of eyes one by one, and he lingered on Angela for a few moments longer than the others.

He heard a door slam shut, and he knew he'd run out of time. He nodded to them. "It'll be the last truck left."

"What about the people who are still here?" Lily asked.

"Don't worry about them," Castiel said, shaking his head. "They'll be taken care of. Just don't let anyone here stop you from leaving. That's all you need to look out for." He heard another few things being thrown into the trucks, and he turned on his heel. "I'll see you all in a few hours."

He made his way out from between the cabins and over to the line of trucks, falling into step with the others. He overheard Chuck speaking to the past version of Dean in a hushed, serious tone - something about hoarding toilet paper - and Castiel allowed himself a wry smile.

Chuck always knew to point out the important things in life.

* * *

"Dean, I'm not an angel anymore."

Castiel hated talking to the Dean he used to know. He hated sitting next to him, he hated being stuck in the same vehicle as him, and he hated the way the past Dean kept looking at him.

The Dean sitting in his truck stared at Castiel as if he didn't even know him.

Which he didn't, Castiel supposed. The Dean of 2009 couldn't know him. It had been another Dean that had been with him when the host left. A different Dean had been the one to hold him and comfort him when Lucifer invaded his dreams. It had been Castiel's Dean that suffered with him, and it was Castiel's Dean knew him better than any other living creature.

"What?"

Yet the Dean sitting next to him was so much closer to the Dean he'd fallen in love with.

"Yeah. I went mortal."

But he still wasn't Castiel's Dean. The old Dean looked at him like he wanted to give him pity, and Castiel knew that if the old Dean knew him as well as his Dean did, that look wouldn't be anything that resembled sympathy.

The only Dean that could stomach what Castiel was truly like was his own Dean.

"I'm practically human." Castiel wanted to tell the Dean sitting next to him that he didn't belong in this time. He didn't fit. He was too bright, too full of hope, and Castiel didn't want him to see what this world turned into. "I mean, Dean - I'm all but useless." He also didn't want him to see how this world would end. "Last year, broke my foot. Laid up for two months."

Dean of 2009 would never understand why the end was a good thing. He hadn't lived it. He hadn't seen it.

"So you're human," Dean said. "Welcome to the club."

"Thanks," Castiel said. "Except I used to belong to a much better club." Castiel rarely thought about his family anymore. His family had shaped him and made him who he was before Dean ever got his hands on him.

If Castiel had been able to leave with his brothers and sisters, he would already be at peace. He wouldn't suffer along with the rest of humanity.

Castiel could only hope that Dean - the Dean next to him, the Dean that stared at him like he was a lost child - would be spirited back to his own time before they finally reached the end.

He would eventually become Castiel's Dean, after all, and Dean didn't need to go through the end of the world more than once.

* * *

Around them, the sounds of gunfire and explosions rocketed across the building. Above it all, they could hear Risa shouting for Willis, and then for Castiel.

Castiel ignored it all. "Croats first," he said. "Then the rest."

Caroline, Owen and the rest all glanced over their shoulders as a grenade went off just down the hallway, and Castiel found himself hiding a smile.

He was so close.

"Make it quick," he said. "And we'll finally be able to move on."

Six heads nodded at him, and they turned and headed into the fray. As they disappeared around the corner, the smile he'd been holding back finally broke through.

He always thought the end would look bleak, hopeless, like it had in his dreams. He expected the world to burn around him until nothing remained. Instead, he finally understood what humans meant by 'seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.'

His smile turned into a grin, then he dropped his eyes to inspect his gun once more, purely out of habit. He knew he had to be careful. He couldn't afford a Croat to get the jump on him before he was finished. He slid the clip back into place and looked back towards the hallway.

Angela stood in front of him, tears streaming down her face. She had a white-knuckled grip on his gun, but she left it dropped by her side.

"What's wrong?" Castiel immediately gathered her into his arms, and her shoulders began shaking. "Angela..."

"I c-c-can't," she stammered out in between sobs. "I can't." Castiel felt a few tears slide down her face and onto his shirt, and he closed his eyes and buried his face into her hair. She didn't smell like flowers anymore. She smelled like gun grease and powder.

"It's okay," he said, shushing her. "It'll be okay."

"I'm sorry," she gasped.

Castiel drew back, cradling her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the stray tears. "You just weren't ready," he said quietly, shaking his head. "That's my fault, not yours." He smiled at her, and he dropped his hand to cover Angela's, wrapping around her gun. "It'll be okay," he repeated, gently coaxing the gun from her grip. "Close your eyes," he whispered. She did, and he placed a kiss on her forehead.

He drew back and raised the gun he'd just taken from her, and the bullet flew through the air and landed right where his lips had been. She was dead before her feet carried her back into the wall behind her, and she fell. A messy streak of blood stood out against the fading white paint, leading from where she landed and sliding down to the ground.

Castiel crouched down next to her and tucked a stray strand of hair back behind her ears. "The others will be with you soon," he said quietly.

He stepped over her body and out into the hallway, following the sound of the grenades. He turned a corner and Risa nearly bowled him over. It appeared that she had dropped her gun, something that was incredibly unlike her, and he glanced over her shoulder and spotted five Croats racing towards them at top speed. He pointed his gun over her shoulder and cut them down, one at a time.

Risa breathed a sigh of relief as they fell, but a look of desperation almost immediately took over. "We're outnumbered, Cas," she gasped.

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "I know," he said, studying her. She wasn't armed, and if a Croat got to her before anyone else did, it wouldn't be a pretty end. She didn't deserve to die at the hands of a human who was barely even human anymore, not when he could offer her something far more peaceful.

She turned around and peered back up the hallway, wiping a hand across her brow. "We need to get out of here, regroup..."

Castiel didn't answer her and instead raised his gun again, training it at the back of her head.

* * *

Lily and Owen were the last, and they fell together just before dusk. After hours of rocketing explosions and cracks of gunfire the building finally fell silent, and Castiel let out a deep breath.

Dean was dead. Castiel wasn't entirely sure how he knew that, but he did. Part of him wanted to mourn, another part wanted to go look for Dean's body, but he knew it wouldn't matter. Dean was finally done, and Castiel was nearly done.

He just had one more task to take care of, and then he could rest - the same as Dean, and the same as all the others.

"You've certainly... created a scene in here, Castiel."

A biting chill ran up Castiel's body, not at the words, but at the voice that said them. He hadn't heard that voice in five long, grueling years, and he didn't think he would ever hear it again. Castiel didn't need to remind himself that it was no longer Sam, but a pang still struck him in his heart, and he had to steel himself, clenching his teeth before he finally turned to face Lucifer.

Lucifer looked out of place, but in a much different way than the way the Dean of the past had. The walls in the building were spattered with blood, and the blood slid down over the scorch marks and into bullet holes. Lucifer stood out against them. He was too clean, and he almost seemed to glow.

"Nice of you to actually meet me in person," Castiel said, his upper lip curling back in distaste.

Lucifer drew Sam's eyebrows together in a curious line. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"The way you kept invading my head while I slept. I'm still not sure what you intended to accomplish with that."

Lucifer let out a laugh. "I've never come to you before now, brother. If you've been dreaming about me with your human mind, that has nothing to do with me." Lucifer looked closer at Castiel, and his expression went from teasing to intrigued. He took a few steps closer to Castiel, and Castiel didn't even bother to raise his gun, knowing it wouldn't even put a dent in his campy white suit. He peered at Castiel, and Castiel felt the dull pain in his chest twinge when he realized how much his expression reminded him of Sam. Sam used to wear that look when he was faced with a puzzle he couldn't solve.

"Except your mind isn't..." Lucifer's confusion disappeared, and his lips spread out into a smile again.

Castiel frowned. "My mind isn't what?"

"Nothing," Lucifer said, his smile growing wider. "It's not important."

Castiel rolled his eyes at Lucifer's evasion, but he knew he should have expected that arrogance. "So are you going to kill me now, or what?"

Lucifer appeared genuinely affronted. "Unlike some, Castiel, I do not kill my family."

Castiel blinked, and Lucifer was gone.

* * *

He didn't exactly feel the wards fall as he scratched out the last sigil, but he could sense something snapping, like a branch crashing down from a dead tree.

Chitaqua was unprotected for the first time in years, and he slipped into the camp in silence.

This was it. The people in the camp were the lucky ones. There were other humans hiding in other places around the world, but the humans hiding in Chitaqua were the last that knowingly depended on him - and Dean - to bring them peace. They might have had a different idea of peace than the kind he could offer, but only his peace was absolute.

It would be absolute, and without fanfare. After all, many humans prayed to die in their sleep, from what he had come to understand. He could give them that.

He made his way towards the center of camp, and his feet shuffled to a stop.

Something wasn't right.

Castiel had counted before he left, and fourteen people should have remained. Instead, the cabins were empty, and he could see large squares of dead, flattened grass on the ground where a few tents sat for years.

The people of Chitaqua had packed up and left.

"Cas?"

Castiel twisted around and raised his gun in one movement, and he let out a relieved sigh when he saw who had spoken. "Where is everyone, Chuck?"

Chuck stuffed his hands in his pockets, toeing the dirt with a worn in boot. He looked strange without his clipboard. "Uh... they left."

"I can see that," Castiel said, mildly annoyed at Chuck's ever-present ability to state the obvious. "Where did they go?"

Chuck shrugged. "I dunno. I think they... I think they decided they didn't want to die here."

Castiel repeated those words in his head and they still didn't make sense, and Chuck was behaving strange, on edge, even for him. "And you... stayed?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"'Cuz you're gonna kill me," Chuck said, and Castiel nearly dropped his gun at the words.

There wasn't any way Chuck could have known. He couldn't even know what had happened in Jackson. He couldn't know Dean was dead, nor that the rest of the people who had left on the mission were already dead. He certainly couldn't have known what Castiel had planned to do after he came back. "Why do you say that?" Castiel finally asked.

Chuck sighed, and he tilted his head back and looked up at the stars. "Crap, do we really have to do this?"

"Do _what_?"

"Look, um... Cas." Chuck threaded his fingers together behind his neck, looking even more uneasy than he usually did. "You're... I... damn it. I don't know who's the worst."

Castiel supposed he could just give Chuck his peace now, but his curiosity slowly overcame him. Chuck was hiding something. "Who's the worst what?"

"You, for... doing what you've been doing. Dean, for knowing about it and not stopping it. Or me." Chuck shifted his weight and finally looked Castiel in the eye. Castiel halfway expected Chuck to look foggy, unfocused, what with him stumbling over his words as if he'd been drinking for hours, but Chuck's gaze was unshakable. It was unsettling.

"What about you?"

"I knew. The whole fucking time, I knew. Or I guess I knew, but I just never knew how bad it would get," Chuck said, and his familiar manner of stumbling over his words suddenly came back full force. "I mean, I didn't _know_ know, but I guess I knew. I just didn't know what it all meant until now, and by the time I realized it -"

"Chuck!" Castiel cut him off. "What the fuck are you going on about?"

"I'm the one who started telling people that you're an angel."

Castiel blinked. He had wondered how that happened, but he'd decided long ago that he hadn't been trying to hide. "I'm not sure why that... matters, Chuck. I'm not an angel anymore, anyway."

"That's just it, though, Cas." The stammering Chuck that Castiel was accustomed to was gone again, and Castiel wasn't sure if he liked this puzzling, enigmatic Chuck in the least. "You never stopped being an angel."

Castiel shook his head. "It doesn't work that way, Chuck. I'm not an angel - I don't have any of my old powers, and if I had we wouldn't be where we are right now -"

"You can't just turn into something you're not."

Castiel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you insist. Either way, I really don't feel like splitting hairs over that." He was tired, and he never expected the one thing to hold him back from finally resting would be Chuck. "I don't understand why you're telling me that you let out my 'secret,' though." He dropped his hand and studied Chuck, wondering if this world had broken him just like it broke everyone else. "And you're saying 'you knew.' Are you telling me that you never stopped having visions?"

"No!" Chuck insisted. "I definitely stopped having visions. It's just - the ones I had before, the ones that didn't make any sense? They... told me a few things that I was supposed to do, and when people needed someone to go to I sent them to you."

"Why?"

"Because... 'cuz the visions said you were going to bring everyone peace," Chuck said. "And that your perception of peace would help when Dean got here -"

"Wait, wait. When Dean 'got' here?" Castiel's head was already spinning, and Chuck wasn't making it any easier. The more he talked, the more confused Castiel became.

"I told you about the last vision I had - that all I saw was that Dean was there in the end."

Castiel finally saw a glimmer of clarity, and he grasped it before it could flutter away. "You meant the Dean of the past."

Chuck nodded.

"You knew all this time that he would be coming?"

"Yeah."

Both Deans were gone. Castiel's Dean was dead, and the past Dean had vanished, supposedly thrown back into his own time. "I don't understand why that matters," Castiel said.

"Because he's the only chance we've got."

Years ago, Castiel would have agreed with him, but not in this time. "Time is immutable, Chuck. We'll always end up right back here," he said.

"Not according to my visions."

"Your visions were _wrong_!" Castiel shouted. "This world is dead. It's beyond saving!"

"That's why _Dean_ had to see everything here!" Chuck said. "This world has _been_ dead, Cas. We reached some... some kind of 'point of no return,' and the world died. And you've always known that." Chuck paused, taking a breath. "The angels knew that, too."

Chuck's words seemed to play on repeat in his mind, and one thing that had puzzled him since he fell suddenly became astonishingly clear. His breath caught and his gun slipped from his hand and onto the ground. "The angels killed themselves," he gasped. "They didn't leave. They died."

"They did?" Chuck asked, and Castiel barely heard it.

When the world died, there was nothing left for the host. For so long, they wanted paradise on earth, in the world the humans inhabited. They couldn't have their paradise, so they granted themselves the only other wish they had - they gave themselves oblivion. They gave themselves peace.

And they put themselves to rest.

Castiel let out a laugh, and he fell to his knees. His fingers cut into the dirt beneath his nails. "I suppose that's why you say I never stopped being an angel," he whispered. It was why Lucifer said his mind wasn't human, why Dean always accused him of continuing to think like an angel.

But even if he'd betrayed Heaven for Dean, even if he'd fallen, even if he'd lost both his wings and his power, Castiel couldn't ever stop being what he'd always been.

"Look, Cas..." Castiel heard gravel crunch as Chuck crouched down beside him. "Dean came. He saw everything, and he's got a chance to fix it. He saw everything for what it was, right?"

Castiel shook his head. Dean - the real Dean, not the pale imitation that Castiel's Dean had become - only saw what Castiel had allowed him to. "He didn't see me," he whispered. "Does that matter?"

"I... I don't know, man."

Castiel took one more deep breath and his hand trailed through the dirt, carving a path to the gun that had fallen by his side. His finger curled around the trigger, and he closed his eyes.

* * *

When the angels died, Castiel fell.

* * *

Angels are not meant to be anything but angels, but when an angel falls they can be forced into the body and life and mind of a human.

After that, there is only one thing they can become.

 

_I am only what you made me. I am a reflection of you.  
-Charles Manson_


End file.
